
Class _H^. ^^ 



CopightN" I ^ I ■; 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



PenP 



EN r^ICTURES 



V3r 



AND 



Other Gleanings 



BY 



PAULINE deLAUNAY 




COLUMBUS, GA.: 

Tho8. Gilbert, Publisher. 
1898. 






2481 



^oU 
3^,^ 



P^V 



Entered accordins; to Act of Conojress, in the year 1898, 

By PAULINE deLAUNAY, 

in tlie Offire of tlic Lilirariiiii of Congre>;s, at Washinj^ton 






"Sometimes, A^rhen uncertain of a voice from its very 
loudness, v^-e catch the missing syllable in the echo. In 
God and Nature -we hear Voice and Kcho. When I 
hear both, I am assured." — Drummokd. 



He prayeth well, who loveth w^ell 
Both man, and bird, and beast. 
He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All thinp^s, both great and small ^ 
For the dear God, v?ho loveth us 
He made, and loveth all." 

— CoLKHIDGK. 






CONTENTS. 

POEMS. 



PAGE 



My Bouquet Gathered on Wild wood Drive 9 

Glen Lora 20 

Mrs. Emma Ragland Tinsley 22 

Our Little Librarian 24 

My Chick-a-de-dee 24 

Mrs. Eliza AVynne Shepherd 27 

My Pearl 28 

Miss Fannie Williams 29 

Mrs. Lucy Shepherd 31 

Two Sisters — Mesdames Addie Abercrombie Howard and 

Emmie Abercrombie Nesbitt 32 

Miss May Beall Frazer 32 

Miss Corinne Worsley 33 

Miss Moselle Worsley 33 

Miss Corinne deLaunay 33 

Miss Pauline deLaunay Shepherd 34 

Mrs. Mary Downing Hill 35 

Mrs. Norah Slade Scriven 35 

Miss Maymie Banks 36 

Miss Miriam C. Tillman 37 

Mrs. Annie Hunter 37 

Mrs. Florida Abercrombie Smith 37 

Miss Annie Shingleur 39 

Mrs. Pauline Virginia Carrington 39 

Mesdames Elvie Flewellen Shingleur and Lottie Weems 

Johnson 4v. 

Miss Florida Wellborn 41 

Miss Bennie Fontaine 43 

Mrs. Clotilde deL. Hines 45 



The Lady of Belmont 45 

My Little Wild Daisy 48 

Miss Gertrude Eberhart 50 

Miss Marie Blandford 50 

Miss Mary Lou Redd 51 

Mrs. Nellie Cooper Frederick 51 

Miss Willie Blankenship 52 

Mesdames Maria Nelson Woolfolk and Rosa Nelson Ticknor.. 53 

Mrs. Amelie Compton Swift 55 

An Inspiration 56 

Mrs. Frances Hurt 56 

Dr. and Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Donnell 60 

To My Serenaders 63 

To My Guitar 64 

Little Elise Shepherd 65 

Baby's First Grief 66 

Mrs. Virginia Lindsey Woodruff 67 

My Bouquet— Gathered on Third Avenue 68 

Miss Mary Hanserd 73 

Three Beautiful Brides 73 

Mrs. Mattie Flournoy Adams 74 

Mesdames Mittie Chapman Mott and Mary Lou Mott Wood- 

■ ruff 76 

Mrs. Levisa Catchings Chamberlain 77 

In Memoriam 78 

My Rose 80 

Esquihne 83 

My Blonde and Brunette 88 

Miss Lucy Blandford 88 

Miss Sallie Cleghorn 89 

Mrs. Mary Browne Slade 90 

Mrs. Cornelia Bacon Osborne 91 

Misses Clark 92 

Miss May Wells 92 

Misses Mabel Phelps and Gertrude Phelps 92 

Wild wood— To Mrs. Annie Leonard Garrard 93 

Mrs. Emily Meigs AVoolfolk 98 

Mrs. Jennie Hinde 98 



Mrs. Ellen Charlton Hudson 99 

When Susie Brought Her Baby In 99 

Mrs. Cynthia Kent Chappell 100 

Brave Heart and True 101 

Miss Jennie Hart 102 

L' Adieu 103 

My Legacy 103 

PROSE. 

To My Readers 106 

A Modern House-Party 107 

Brother Jenkins' Sermon 114 

A Defence of the Shop-Girl 117 

Cuffee's Bravery 122 

Girls 123 

Forgiveness 130 

The Georgia Chigger 131 

I'm an Artist 131 

Little Children 136 

Dat Chicken Died Wid de Kolery ; 137 

Aunt Ria's First Social Call 141 

A Trip to St. Simons Island 147 

Two Indisputable Reasons Why 153 

A Little Child's Sayings 153 

An Apostrophe 154 



©^■j® 



BOUQUET GATHERED ON WILDWOOD 
DRIVE. 

inscribed to mesdames 
Annie Leonard Garrard, Balmie Lindsey Neil, 
Fannie Neil Young, Belle Powers Carter, 

Maude McClure, Mamie Reynolds Flournoy, 

Mollie Gordon Chambers, Bessie Perkins, 
Patsy Williams McCree, May Montgomery, 

AND misses 

Annie Garrard, Katie Neil. 

Atlanta may boast of fair "Peachtree," 
With its beautiful villas, grand to see — 

I own, 
Our Wildwood Drive, I'd not exchange. 
Although, more modest is its range ; 

And, why'^ 
Because, along its winding way. 
Graced with trees, and gardens gay, 

I find 
The rarest sweets that ever grew, 
And blossomed. Now, would you. 

Friends kind. 
Like for me, simply, here to tell 
What makes each hill, and glade, and dell, 

So fair. 
This pretty Wildwood Drive, along? 
I'll tell it briefly then, in song, 

Nor care. 
Dear Friends, if Poets' Fame 
Ne'er wreathe a laurel round my name, 

If they 



10 

To whom, this little song I sing, 
('Tis but a simple, heartfelt thing 

To say) — 
Shall, lovingly its mission take. 
With love, it, only, for my sake, 

Endow — 
And, when the time shall come 
That, I no more, may make my Home, 

Where now 
I live, and move in joy, among 
Your cherished selves, where I so long 

Your kind 
Companionship so dear and sweet — 
Peerless, elsewhere to ever meet. 

Or find— 
And, first comes Annie Leonard Garrard, and 
Her little Isabel — Ah ! On land 

And sea. 
Seek far and wide, but fruitlessly, 
I'm sure your search will be, 

For we 
Have met her duplicate, ah ! never ! 
I clasp her to my soul, forever! 

And name 
For her, the Oleander pink, 
Because on those sweet blooms, I think 

A flame 
Of glorious hue, glows, when the sun's rays fall 
Thereon, that far surpasses all 

The light 
And glow of any other Flower 
Created in garden rare, or bower 

So bright! 
So glorious, so rosy hued. 
So, with a look of soul, imbued. 

That I 
Always must needs, in thought, recall 
The dear, sweet Friend, who can enthrall 

With eye, 



11 

Of matchless dazzling beauty dark, 
Kindled with love's electric spark, 

And lips, 
And face, and manner, all her own — 
Unique, with strange magnetic tone 

That sips 
Its sweetness, from the reflex true. 
Of loving kindnesses bestowed on you — 

Bringing 
Back into her happy life, again, 
The sweets, she gives, not all in vain! 

Singing 
Unto her heart, all silently 
Its eloquence ! 'Tis fair to see 

And know! 
Another reason, why I name 
For her, the Oleander pink, its flame 

Doth glow 
And sweetest scents exhale, all the ivhole year, 
In Summer's heat, or wintry weather drear, 

In my 
Fragrant greenhouse, blushes this rare Flower, 
In loveliness eternal, with its mystic power, 

And I 
Cull, and breathe the odor, exquisite, 
Saying softly, could an emblem be more fit 

For one 
Who, with her rare, sweet loveliness 
Is born to comfort and to bless? 

Upon 
My life, how many sweets, hath she bestowed 
Of solace, and of nameless good ! 

And then 
The tiny bud — Dear Isabel ! petite 
And beautiful! saucy, and sweet! 

Again, 
How mischievous, this pretty, prattling thing — 
This laughing, romping sprite, to cling 

Alone 



12 



In close aflfection, to the Mother dear, 
Like a wee bud, nestling so near, 

Upon 
The selfsame stem. Cute, Baby Isabel! 
I love ye both, my darlings, well; 

And cull, 
And place you, in my rare bouqurt 
Of sweetest odors, colors gay. 

So full! 
And now, the "Rosebud'' daughter, I must claim 
Sweet Annie, "Mamnurs" namesake, just the same. 

So I 
Will make, right here, sufficient room 
For yet, another Oleander bloom — 

Right shy 
Of opening yet, its color roseate. 
But, with them all, and fragrance is innate — 

Upon 
The threshold of young icomanhood she stands. 
Holding within her fair, and dainty hands, 

(Thereon 
Inscribed) a ta))let, with its lines of white, 
Shining, like halo, in its living light 

"Be mine, 
The power to bless this Wild wood Home, 
From maiden youthful to l)ecome 

And shine 
Like her, whose name, I proudly bear — 
Like her, a spell of love, to wear," 

And so. 
Dear girl, to thee, could I, no higher 
Benison bequeath, nor any higher 

Bestow 
Of Angelic perfection. Loved, sweet, Wildwood fair; 
I leave thee, with an earnest praver 

That in 
All future years, thou still wilt keep 
Some portion of thy present glory heap — 

Akin 



13 



To Edenland! Another Flower among 
My sweets 'Tis pretty Fannij Youmj , 

And here 
The little tendril, sweet Marie, 
A tiny winsome pet to see, 

So dear, 
Obtuse, and dull I'd be, dear Friends, 
Did I not see, the likeness blends 

So well 
With fragrance of the pure and meet 
Tea Olive, and I deem it sweet 

To dwell 
A time sufficient, at this Home 
Of loveliness, to gather some 

Of many 
Sweets, there growing. Fannie/s little girl 
Comes first — bright, dainty as a pearl. 

Is any 
Baby dearer than her own sweet Maine? 
Bright and sparkling with cunning repartee; 

And now. 
Another cluster of Tea Olive — Katiie Neil! 
It would require a world of weal 

T' endow 
My pen with Poets' potent power 
To paint her gladsome nature — richest dower; 

Portray 
Her charming freshness, dimpled elf, 
Nothing could be prettier than herself. 

Away 
With any falseness, when nhe comes; 
For all your arts, and moneyed sums 

Appear 
Like empty dross, when e'er compared 
With Katifs blushing beauty, and shared 

In dear 
Sweet loving duty, round the hearth. 
Oh, she makes that Home, blest spot on earth 

Indeed; 



14 



And, I must pluck another spray 
For my lovely, sweet bouquet. 

I need 
Some more Tea Olive, for too much 
Is hard to get. To smell and touch 

How sweet. 
Lovely Bessie, and the Mother 
Must be gathered, by each other 

'Tis meet 
To place them. Dear unto my heart 
This fragrance, of their lives a part; 

And now 
I hasten on to Evelyn Heights, 
And watch the shadows of the lights 

On brow 
Of sloping hillside. There, Ma Belle 
In all her beauty, wields a spell, 

And sways 
That lovely spot. My Mareshal Neil 
Is she. Her many beauties steal 

Their ways 
Into one's heart, by her own fascination 
Surer than Siren's incantation, 

For tnis 
Queenly Rose, is like her golden bair 
And like her fresh rich glory, not so fair 

It is; 
But like her in its grandeur magnifique! 
Yet not so perfect as her beautiful physique, 

Nor sweet 
As are the treasures of her heart. 
Belle Garter'' s many charms impart 

Complete 
Attractions to her lovely personel! 
Blonde so perfect, beautiful Belle! 

Buds wee, 
Nestling, close in love, about her. 
As if never could they doubt her 

Ministry. 



15 



Little Belle, and Baby Kobert, so blonde, 
Was ever blessed Mother more fond 

Than Bellet 
We love her, and the trio seems 
Like some fairy sunny dreams. 

To tell 
Of all, thy glorious beauty. Belle, 
Requires a far more potent spell 

Than mine! 
Unspoiled and undemoralized 
By vain society — but prized 

For thine 
Sweet, many charms of heart and mind, 
A charming housekeeper you'll find 

Ma Belle! 
Thrice happy mother, wife, and friend ; 
How many joys your life attend 

Ma Belle; 
And now, in order next. Hill Crest 
Arrests mine eye! A woman blest 

With all 
The joys and luxuries that life 
Can offer — cup with blessings rife ! 

I call 
For her namesake — Chrysanthemum! 
How hard, 'twould be, to fitly sum 

The whole 
Of this grand Flower's entirety ; 
If so, what wondrous sweets you'd see! 

A soul 
As true as when refiner's fire 
True gold has touched. Desire 

No more 
Of good within your heart than lies 
Deep in her own, as in her eyes — 

And o'er 
Her face gleams out the love and light — 
No pretense, and no sham — but bright 

And warm 



16 



In Maymie Reynolds Flournoy^s heart 
Kindness and goodness find their part! 

A charm 
Dwells in such attributes, always, 
Like breath of Flowers, on sunny days! 

I sing 
The praises of the heart I've tried. 
Knowing it is to purest gold allied. 

And bring 
My grand Chrysanthemum, and place 
It here, with clinging buds, the face 

Of each 
Young scion happy, bright, and glad. 
And, if a lesson to them had 

To teach, 
I'd bid each one to emulate 
Her good sense, and her goodness. Fate 

Bestows 
Not many lovelier than she! 
Fair Hill Crest, two more forms I see. 

As flows 
This simple Rhyme — two women fair — 
One is Mollie Chambers — there 

Must be 
A violet, her type to fitly pen 
Perfuming all the woodland glen! 

For me. 
No sweeter Flow'ret grows than this — 
The fairy Butterflies its sweets to kiss 

Select! 
And, now a little humming bird flies near, 
And, warbling forth his song so clear. 

As decked 
With my bouquet, I stretch ray hand 
To take the tiny warbler — and 

It rests 
A moment on the floral heap — 
As if, the garnered sweets to reap — 

Requests 



17 



Me, silently, its downy crest to stroke, 
'Though not a word has e'er the birdling spoke- 
Then, ringing 
At once a clear, sweet melody. 
Swiftly it flew, away from me. 

Still singing! 
Dear little Birdie, I will name 
You, for the gentle thought, that came 

Unsought; 
You shall be our own songbird 
For, as your carol clear, I heard 

So fraught 
With music, sweet Maude McGlure stole 
Softly near, and my listening soul 

Exclaimed 
Birdling! for our own favored one; 
For her, who, all our hearts hath won, 

You're named! 
And now, Mrs. Perkins, with her three 
Sweet cherubs — joy to all, who see — 

Little Dears! 
Prattling, romping, chatting, smiling, 
Many a weary hour beguiling. 

Appears; 
Like dainty Multifiora Roses; 
I cull them; pretty, charming posies; 

And add 
Them to my beautiful bouquet, 
Glowing with hues as fair as May; 

And glad! 
Stay, yet a moment! Who is this 
Bowing her head, and "throwing kiss 

So sweet?" 
Who lives the car-line, just across — 
Her white hood gives a jaunty toss — 

And feet, 
So tiny, toddling, hurrying to press 
My hand, and daintily caress — 

I see! 



18 



'Tis Patsy Williams 3Ic Greeks sweet child 
Tripping so lightly, over heather wild 

With glee! 
'Tis darling little Martha McCree, 
Baby darling of her mother — See! 

The sprite ! 
As the loving, fondling mother draws near. 
Catching the laughing baby, dear, 

In white. 
She is my sweet pink Rose Sylx)hide, 
A lovely, fragrant one, indeed! 

All blest 
Is this sweet woman, bright and fair. 
For Love has placed on her his rare 

Behest. 
One more cluster for my bouquet, 
To garnish the gorgeous, bright array. 

Complete. 
Where shall I find a snow-drop white, 
To shine these blossoms amid, so bright 

And sweet? 
Blanche Montgomery — three years of age — 
Must be inscribed on this loving page. 

Wee tot! 
With soft blue eyes, and golden curls 
That glisten like fairy sheen of pearls. 

And not 
A look of that lovely face, 
But one may always, easily trace 

Resemblance 
To dreams of Angel faces fair! 
They surely are like in beauty rare 

My semblance. 
Dear is this baby, my own Godchild! 
Her face is so fair, her eyes are so mild; 

And near 
To my heart they have grown to be, 
May Montgomery — and Blanche, so wee. 

So dear. 



19 

Ah, Blanche! little darling, snoiv-drop white, 
How, like a star, gleams your soft, mild light! 

I pray 
That, through life, our Lord will keep 
A special watch o'er you— by day, and, in sleep; 

Far away, 
'Though you be, from my presence, dear child, 
So dear — may the light all undefiled, 

His luing 
Ever cover, and shield thee, my pet; 
My wishes, and prayers, you'll not forget — 

But cling 
To the vows I assumed, at the altar pure; 
May their halo blest, through all time endure— 

And when 
Womanhood's after years shall dawo, 
And babyhood, childhood, forever gone — 

Again, 
May you, on this page sweetly trace 
My love, which no years can ever efface; 

My prayers 
Will follow you, far and wide. 
And will often, in presence, mingle beside 

And share 
In your oivn, Blanche dear! My bouquet 
Is all gathered, and placed in array, 

Dear Friends! 
If now, and in unknown, future years 
A token of pleasure it silently wears, 

Or lends 
Any sweetness to Memory's hours — 
These evergreen leaves, or these blossoming Flowers, 

Revealing 
A glimpse of my inner life as it goes 
Out, in love, to each and all — how it glows 

With feeling 
Of kindest remembrance, of grateful love 
For all the sweet pleasures, as here, I move, 

Among, 



20 



You, Dears — you've so often given 
To my life, like glintings of Heaven, 

Or song 
Of the Angels unseen — then, not all in vain. 
The mission so loving, if this modest strain — 

These Flowers 
So gathered, and named for each one. 
May bring to our hearts, when these years are gone, 

Glad hours ! 



GLEN LORA. 

TO MRS. LORETTO REBECCA CHAPPELL. 

The day almost done, cometh on the dark night, 

As drearily falleth the drizzling rain. 

But the light of Glen Lora draws near, just in sight; 

Nor shineth the guiding beacon in vain ! 

I am hastening on, through the darkness and rain. 

Still keeping that steady light within view ! 

Glen Lora in sight! Let me hurry! 1 fain 

Would reach that loved Haven, so true! 

There's a dear one waiting for me, I know ! 

Ah! I'm near; I see her; she stands in the door ! 

That dear, precious Friend my heart loveth so ! 

I am there! Apprehension and fear are o'er ! 

Dear Heart of hearts! how I treasure thy love; 

How I echo it clearly to your own. 

^Tis your own self alone, dear — my heart, can thus move, 

Like a tendril, all closely, and nearly grown 

Round the tree ! my soul clingeth fondly to thee ! 

In all my joys, thoa art first to share — 

In grief, thou'rt the first to bestow sympathy ; 

For me, so tenderly always to care. 

To thee, its mistress, an Empress there 

Over hearts, and Home's own gladsome cheer, 

With a sceptre, thine own charms bear! 

Thou hast won my heart's allegiance. 

Thou dear little woman — so charming! unique! 

And I've learned to love thine eyes' earnest glance. 



21 

As in love and fondness they to my heart speak. 

Thou hast bound my heart with "a threefold cord^^ — 

That strong, firm cord that knows no breaking.' 

Thine is the tenderly loving word 

For a heart in its desolate aching. 

In the busy tasks of my toilsome way, 

In the duties so pressing and many, 

'Tis of dear Glen Lora I think alway'! 

For to me, in this world, is there any 

Place dearer, more like my own Home ? 

Made so by the Mistress so lovely to me, 

Who so frequently says, " My dear child, come 

When you will — I've a welcome for thee!" 

To me, this dear Home is a Haven of Rest ; 

Thy love, dearest heart, to me a strong tower: 

In my soul's secret chambers a cherished guest. 

In Sorrow's dark days, or in Joy's bright hours. 

Glen Lora! Glen Lora! my heart turns to thee. 

The world may prove false — not the Spirit that sways 

Thy blessed domain. Sincerity 

There dwells, and greets me always. 

Glen Lora, sweet Home of this darling Friend 

Dear, shady, loved, woodland retreat. 

With its grand arching trees, whose branches lend 

Their gracious shelter in Summer's long heat. 

Dear Home of love and affection art thou, 

How my heart clings in fondness to thee! 

Such grandeur, and beauty, and wildness enow 

To bewilder the gladsome Fairies, and — me. 

For my soul responds to these beauties rare — 

Kind Nature's own lavish rich endow! 

But, to me, more dear, aye, far more fair. 

In that Home, is the beautiful brow, 

The smile, the greeting, th' affection dear, 

With a love seldom equaled, never surpassed 

By friend for friend! I thank thee, dear Heart, 

For the solace and joy thou hast been in the Past, 

For the Present's bright glow! May the Future impart 

Its radiance, undimmed, throughout our lives, 



22 

And when over, for us, every struggle and care, 
May the love undefiled, that always survives 
Over Time, over Death! Be this my heart's prayer — 
That, when no more in Life's strange wilderness 
I journey along by the toilsome way; 
When you, dearest Heart, no longer to bless 
And to pet; when Glen Lora's sure ray 
No longer is needed to hold out for me 
Its beacon light; when. Love, you and I 
Shall both, on Earth, have ceased to be; [^7^ " — 

When, for us, shall have dawned the "Sweet Bye-and- 
I pray that the Lord of the Harvest allot 
Us a place very close to each other. 
Still hand in hand in that Eden spot, 
Still heart to heart, singing praises together. 
That Home that knoweth no separation 
Of true Friends! Amid the purity 
And joys of that vast congregation, 
May we dwell ever near, so near, I and thee! 
* * * 

Glen Lora, loved! My midnight lamp low burns, 

And I must say good-night ! While life shall last, 

In tender love, my spirit to thee turns 

With yearnings oft — and loill till earthly years are past! 



TO MRS. EMMA RAGLAND TINSLEY, OF MACON, GA. 

Long years had passed since we had met. 

Dear was her memory — and yet, 

I wondered if she could forget 

The friends of yore, as many do. 

Or was she like the faithful few — 

The gold refined — the tried and true? 

I had not long to wait, to know. 

For like a dream of sunny glow 

That burnishes the long ago, 

With wondrous glintings, that it seems 

As if 'twere yesterday, when gleams 

Of early, beautiful, bright dreams 



23 

Flecked all the sky, with rosy red! 

It can not be, those years have fled 

And yet — the silent, shadowy tread 

Of buried scenes, sometimes returns 

And, for awhile as brightly burns 

The light, in memory's fair urns. 

As if, 'twere only yesterday! 

When Flowers were gathered on each May 

And hearts were young, and life was gay! 

She stands before me — Emma, dear! 

Still beautiful! Does she appear 

Much changed? Each passing year 

Has only mellowed, not destroyed 

Her beauty — nor has Time alloyed 

Her sweetness! I was overjoyed 

To find her charms still unimpaired 

Nay, more! for change had never dared 
To touch her loveliness — but spared 
Her soft, sweet, melting ways, to win 
And charm, wherever met. If, in 
This world of change, and wrong, and sin, 
AH ivomanJiood, the gift possessed 

To baj/le Time, as does this woman blest 

This weary world would find some Best, 
Some sweet and comforting surcease. 

Would hear some inward song of Peace 

Be conscious of some grand increase 

Of Good! Her heart its freshness keeps! 

And laughs at Time's gigantic leaps 

In her sweet home she duly reaps 

The harvest rich— Lovely and fair; 

She deals out joys to loved ones there, 

With those sweet gifts, divinely rare! 

Mistress of hospitality — 

In all the arts of courtesy 

Polished and cultured charms, is she! 



24 



OUR LITTLE LIBRARIAN. 

TO MRS. NINA HOLSTEAD. 

Can you, her chiefest charm define? 

Or, have you ever thought 
What is it, in this pet of mine, 

With such strange influence wrought? 
It cannot be her beauty rare, 

For many, beauty own. 
Without attracting^, e'en repel; 

Nor yet, her mind alone, 
'Though she is gifted there, also; 

I think it, then, must be 
Her manners, that always charm so; 

At once 'tis clear to see 
Her stamp of perfect Ladyhood — 

Polite, considerate — 
With elegance of ease — she's good. 

And soul refined, inate; 
With intuition requisite, 

Modest, and chaste, and sweet. 
Her tout ensemble exquisite, 

A joy it is to meet! 



MY CHICK-A-DE-DEE 

TO MRS. BETTIE SHORTER FONTAINE. 

My name for her is, my Chick-a-de-dee! 

It suits her entirely, from my "point of view." 
If you'll listcQ a moment, dear reader, to me 

I'll tell you why 'tis a soubriquet true! 
Long ago, when a child, the poem was read 

Of "Chick-a-de-dee" to my childish ears, 
And my young imagination was fed 

In purest book-lore, for those childhood's years. 
So, I watched from the windows for Chick-a-de-dee, 

And, I placed some crumbs, on the old window sill, 
Watching, and wailing, in innocent glee, 

For my birdies, so loved, and so dear, until, 



■ • 25 

• 

One day, the}' came, sure enough to the spot, 

Where the tempting viands, by me, had been spread- 
How they twittered and chirruped! and, I, a tot, 

Clambered all softly, and, leaned my head 
The window panes 'gainst, their motions to see — 

How happy they were, how gladsome was I! 
They danced, and they chirruped, each Chick-a-de-dee, 

Then flew to the yard, to some birds flitting by, 
And asked them to come to the old window ledge 

To partake of their bounty, each bobbing his head, 
Escorting the guests, to the crumb decked edge 

I had spread. Oh, birdies, I eagerly said 
If you only would come, inside with me, 

I'd give you the half of my crumbs and my toys. 
WonH you come? Say, merry bright Chick-a-de-dee; 

' Tis a happy life mine, where nothing alloys. 
But, they only bobbed, and chattered, and glanced - 

With the cutest expression, that ever was seen; 
And, right through the window they shyly glanced, 

And looked up, so lovingly, straight at me. 
As if saying, "We thank you, dear little girl, 

"But our mission is here, in this strange Bird-land, 
"As the w^orld moves on, in its busy whirl, 

"Guided on, by that mighty, unseen Hand, 
"We must cater to birds, less fortunate — 

"But, I'll promise this, my little dear, 
"To be your true, and devoted mate 

"Every day, of this quickly revolving year, 
"That you daintily place, these sweets, outside 

"Will gather our clan, and will come to you 
"Whatever the weather, whatever betide, 

''Dividing our store, with unselfishness true!" 
Chick-a-de-dee! He went singing away 

Far o'er the mountain, and river, and plain. 
Yet, I went there, and watched and waited each day, . 

And, often he came, to my pleadings, again! 
Always chirping, and bobbing, and singing, 

Always dividing his feast, with another! 
The colder the day, the surer^, his bringing 



26 

• 

Some lone hungry mate, some birdling brother! 
Ghick-a-de-dee! she is merry and bright! 

Petite and coquetish — A woman sweet, 
Bringing her gladness, and laughter light, 

Sunshine overhead, and Flowers at your feet. 
How I love, and cherish my Chick-a-de-dee! 

Her presence is charming, contagious of mirth; 
If the world had many, how happy 'twould be; 

How sunny, and genial, the whole round earth. 
There's never a heart, be it weary and sad, 

And never a home, of the sick or the poor; 
But she finds her way, with her coming glad, 

Leaving love, and sympathy sweet, at the door. 
In a grand old Mansion by River's side, 

A woman, all sweetness, unselfishness. 
Claims the grace to lovingly there preside. 

With a rare benediction, to comfort and bless. 
'Tis a type of the Southern Aristocrat, 

In its broadest and highest significance; 
So gracious its hospitality 

Its innate refinement, is seen at a glance. 
Such delicious viands, my Bii^die, spreads there! 

Fit feasts for the gods, nothing more to desire! 
The courtesy inborn, that warms the whole air 

Of that Home! Can one, but love, and admire? 
May you live on, and on, my own Chick-a-de-dee! 

The world will be darker, when, from it, you go! 
May all your sweet missions, to others, and me, 

Gome hack, to your heart, in the years, that flow 
Bringing some of the gladness, and freshness, and sweet- 
ness, 

You^ve given to us! Oh! heart, of pure gold! 
When the all of Life (as years, in their fleetness 

And strangeness revolve and depart) is told — 
Sifting out purest hearts of unselfishness — 

Gleaning the wheat — and, discarding the tares — 
Disclosing the True, in this World's wilderness — 

Dismantling the garb Deceitfulness wears. 
When the Angels shall gather the " True and the Tried,^^ 



27 

Sweet Charity summon her best votaries — 
Brightly, amid those seraphs — the first beside — 

TheyHl greet you, dear Friend, to crown and to bless! 
Chick-a-de-dee — sweet Chick-a-de-dee! 

Come again; as I write, at my window sill, 
Comfort and bless, dear, and brighten me 

Like the clear song of birdling, or rippling rill. 
In summer's long heat, or in winter's cold snow; 

Whenever you come, you bring sunshine to me! 
'Tis a halo that follows, icherever you go, 

My Chick-a-de-dee — sweet Chick-a-de-dee! 



TO MRS. ELIZA WYNNE SHEPHERD. 

You've often heard that money brings 

Chief happiness to all below, 
But she of whom my muse now sings 

Doth find her joys, not in vain show 
Or riches, or display, I deem — 

She is an ancient, happy dame. 
Reared 'neath the good, antique regime, 

When goodness meant more than a name. 
And modesty still lived on earth. 

And girls were taught to ''keep the Home,^^ 
And character was something worth, 

And women gave to manhood some 
Of their oivn reflections pure ! How 

Happy is this friend of mine! She 
Finds her world of rich endow 

Of love, and kind, sweet sympathy 
For all within her realm of sweet 

And loving deeds. How blest among 
Her flowers and trees, the greet 

Of her glad, cheery voice; a song, 
Or dream of beauty, not more bright 

Than she — as standing there, a Queen 
Of Love and Flowers! her gentle might 

More potent! none, more blest, I ween! 
Her life, I wot, a grand success 



28 



And triumph is! dependent not 
On outward things or show to bless, 

But making Home a lovely spot 
For children, friends, and all who prize 

Her goodness, sense, society! 
Nor want or suffering e'er denies, 

Nor grudges hospitality! 
Crowned are her years, with woman's glory, 

Peace, and content, her heart's pure guests! 
Loving to tell the "olden story," 

Declining age, here sweetly rests! 
Dear friend, thou hast my fealty; 

Thou'st loved me all my changeful life, 
Thou'st given me sweetest sympathy — 

May all thy days, with peace, be rife! 
May'st thou live long, to cheer and bless 

The sweet Home-circle, and, thy friends! 
Nor life's rich fullness, e'er grow less — ■ 

And all the light affection lends 
To cheer the pathway here, still burn 

As ever bright as now. May flowers 
Keep blooming near thee, and return 

Their sweetness, through life's closing hours! 



MY PEARL. 

TO MRS. AUGUSTA BENNING CRAWFORD. 

In this wilderness weary — we call the World — 

As I pass through its maizes so dreary, 
With its human ambitions, and hopes, and its cares; 

Its huge disappointments, longings so weary. 
The seeming, from real, as we learn to divine 

The shallow from earnest, dross from the gold; 
False hearts from the true ones, passing along 

On my way musing, and seeing, revealing unfold 
The Beal. I found, one day, a glistening Pearl 

On the waste so weary, and clasping it near 
My heart, I said: "Bright gem, close let me fold 

You safely here" — gleam for me, like the tender tear 



29 

In the heart of a Friend in sorrow! My Pearl! 

My own true Giissie! with a face bright with love — 
And, her soft, wavy hair — like music's rhythm — 

Her happy laugh! Eyes like the stars above! 
My Pearl! My darling! My beautiful pet! 

A rainbow set in the sky of life! Thou 
Art lovely to me! All tenderly sweet! 

With womanhood's wreath I would crowm thy brow 
With sweetest roses that ever blossomed! 

With purest joys that the soul ever knowsl 
By falseness untouched — by changes undimmed — 

Growing sweeter, and brighter, to life's latest close! 



TO MISS FANNIE W^ILLIAMS. 

'Tis only seldom, in one's whole life 

That one is apt to meet 
A girl, with attributes so rife, 

With gifts, both rare, and sweet, 
Of brilliant mind, and heart, and soul, 

Of blendings wonderful; 
If half, the adequate, true role 

Of all her charms, in full 
Were told, it would of space require 

Many a countless line, 
And more of Genius' Poets fire. 

Than humble pen of mine 
Contains. Since first, I met thee Dear, 

I felt thy beauty charm; 
Then, gaining on acquaintance, near, 

Thy love didst grow, and warm. 
No more, a stranger to my heart. 

But, friendly, grew the tie; 
Owning strange fascination's art, 

The depths that in it lie! 
For me, I felt, life had revealed 

A friendship, new and strong. 
That Time, nor changes have congealed. 

Giving my heart a song 



30 



Of joy anew, and sweet, indeed! 

Another human tie 
To bind me to the earth — I read 

My horoscope! that I 
Each friendship new must nurture, love, 

Must round my heart it bind. 
As ^ift divine, sent from above, 

Where, on earth, I find! 
Its freshness to my life to add. 

Its worth t'appreciate, 
Wear near my soul the blossom glad, 

The gem, thus given, by Fate! 
I clasp you to my heart, dear girl, 

And hold thee fondly there. 
Praying, amid life's busy whirl. 

This talisman ic prayer! 
For her, by me, loved fond and well. 

To find its answer true. 
Within the echo of its spell. 

Always as good, as pure. 
Always as beautiful, as sweet — 

For time, that changes, makes — 
Converting those to-day we meet 

As friends, to foes! and takes 
Some beauty from this human life, 

So fraught with change — 
With sad surprises often rife. 

With revelations strange. 
If years should ever dim thine eye. 

So dark, and soft, and bright — 
Or pale those beauties rare, that lie 

In rosy hues and light, 
Mantling with beauty thy dear face. 

Still — be it jjowerless 
To dim thy soul! or to efface 

Its altar's fire — make less 
In worth, thy heart's affection pure. 

Or mind's rich wealth! 
May all these gifts always endure, 



31 



Beyond the subtle stealth 
Of any jjoicer on earth below! 

Thy path be blessed, bright! 
Will, all of good, life can bestow, 

Leading to endless light! 



TO MRS. LUCY SHEPHERD. 

I must gather a bunch of Heartsease, 

And, where shall I find these Flowers? 
Along the wayside — under the trees 

They grow — in June's bright hours! 
Ah, here they are! so fresh and sweet, 

So soft and velvety! 
For a Fairy's dainty garden meet 

Its sweetest sweets to be! 
Luci/, Pauline, Triieheart and Elise 

Each to me, beautiful ! 
I'll cull these lovely, sweet Heartsease 

And fill my basket full ! 
And press, and keep them ever near 

Within my heart's recess, 
And they shall bloom there, always dear, 

To brighten and to bless! 
Dear Lucy, teach these little lives 

To bloom in beauty fair, 
Enriched with all that surely gives 

The best endowments rare! 
The pious life — the pure, refined^ 

The thoughts, the acts, the woi^ds. 
Reflect their image on the mind. 

And echo to the chords 
The mother tunes in infancy. 

Oh! teach, and guide them well, 
These little hearts and hands to be. 

With strange electric spell. 
Blessings to brighten life's pathway, 

Lessons of love, to give 
To many hearts. Ah, who shall say. 



32 



While here on earth they live? 
To make the world some better, that 

These Heartsease blossom here! 
To feel some good, begun — attained at 

Close of every year! 
To hardly strive, that Pearl to gain, 

"Above all price," assessed — 
Nor, be these precious lives in vain, 

But pu7^e, upright, and blest I 



TWO SISTERS. 

TO MESDAMES ADDIE ABERCROMBIE HOWARD AND EMMIE 
ABERCROMBIE NESBITT. 

The one, with Angelic dignity 

In gentleness excelling — 
Soft as the blush of morn to see, 

But, powerless the telling! 
Sweet, as the Flower's fragrant perfume. 

Her pure, calm loveliness, 
Grand, with a life whose acts illume 

Her limitless prowess! 
Beloved — esteemed — by all, who know 

That heart, and soul, so pure — 
Lifted above the world's vain show 

Her attributes endure! 
The other, a mischievous, dimpled elf; 

Saucy, coquetish, merry! 
Laughing so lightly bright, and gay — 

Lovely, and sweet, and cheery! 



TO MISS MAY BEALL FRAZER. 

A little "Rosebud" flutters near me. 
My own Home nigh — a neighbor to be! 

Is sweet. 
As fresh as Appleblossoms in June, 
Or, bright, glad notes, when lover's tune 

Complete 
Their light Guitars, is petite May Beall 



33 



With artless wiles, and her cheery spell ! 

I hear 
Her footsteps at the front door way 
My dainty, lovely, pretty Fay! 

And dear 
Has this little Rosebud grown! 
Yes, we welcome, to Wynnton, her — as, our own 

May Beali! 
She is winning, and loving, cheery, and kind — 
She's a girl very much — just, after my mind, 

Mav Beall. 



TO MISS CORINNE WORSLEY, OF VIRGINIA. 

Like a dream of soft summer sky — 

Pink, or blue, or amber soft; 

Like a rose, just newly opened, 

Or, a bird's faint song, aloft! 

Like the violets, pure, sweet, incense. 

Or the breath of Flowers in springtime, 

Or a fleecy cloudlet's glinting 

Is the subject of my Rhyme. 



TO MISS MOSELLE WORSLEY, OF VIRGINIA. 

She's a girl of wondrous beauty, 
She's a dimpled, saucy sprite; 
Wealth of tresses, softly flowing, 
Glorious eyes, like star-decked night; 
Independent, mischievous. 
With her merry repartee, 
And herself, like gleams of sunshine 
Bringing gladness, fresh to seel 



TO MISS CORINNE DELAUNAY. 

Black grew the sunshine, of my life. 
All heavy, grew the air; 
In all the world's domain, so vast, 
Was naught, but sorrow there! 

(2) 



34 



My soul was crushed with agony, 

All comfortless, my heart! 

The Cross itself seemed mockery. 

An isolated part — 

My being ciHeA in bitterness, 

In silence, all alone — 

Feeling the world's wide emptiness. 

Its hollow aims, and tone — 

Wild raged the torrents hoarse, strange sound; 

No glinting in the skies, 

' Till, a white missive fluttered near, 

''Sister I sympathizer^ 



TO MISS PAULINE DE L. SHEPHERD. 

My own namesake, little darling, 

How fondly I love thee, dear; 
Invoking life's purest blessing. 

Holding my heart so near! 
Unto fair womanhood, approaching, 

Its threshold standing near. 
Trying to peer through its portals, 

How brightly all things appear 
To your young imagination. 

Robed, with the rainbow's hues — 
Radiant sheen, and shimmering, 

Their colors prismatic diffuse! 
Keep your heart pure, little darling. 

Let your own life reflect 
Charity, gentleness, sweetness. 

As daily its depths you inspect, 
And the world will surely echo 

Whatever, your heart gives out 
Unto it! Con this lesson early, 

In the world's gi'eat, vast redoubt — 
So, will the rainbow's glory 

Your whole, human life illume! 
Joy may sometimes with sorrow 

Blend, but never, with dismal gloom. 



35 

Give to the sorrowing-, gladness, 

To the life embittered, love 
Brimful of tender compassion; 

Your own life keeping above 
Aught that of coldness savors 

Aught, in the least unrefined, 
And your life will be full of gladness 

With sunshine, all interlined! 
Remember my own little darling 

Who said those sweet words of yore, 
"Pm the Lily of the Valley,'' 

Remember this, evermore! 
A little maiden, just budding 

Into womanhood so fair 
Should keep her thoughts and life, as pure 

As God's own Ans'els are! 



TO MRS. MARY DOWNING HILL. 

A woman, all sweetness, sunshine, she- 
Refreshing, contagious her cheerfulness; 

In home's domain, she's fair to see— 
''To warn, to comfort, and to bless," 

With her lovely children, handsome and bright, 
With heart so hopeful and brave! 

Her presence diffuses its love and light, 
With power all sadness or gloom to lave! 



TO MRS. NORAH SLADE SCRIVEN. 

In a cottage by fair Lakewood 
Dwells a woman beautiful — 
Golden-haired, fresh and rosy 
As any flower you'd care to pull. 
With those pretty buds of beauty 

Norah cita — Leila fair 

Beautiful, and gay, and blithesome, 
Eyes resplendent! wealth of hair! 
Pictures they of wondrous beauty! 



36 



Little cherubs, exquisite! 

In that dainty Lovers own cottage, 

For the Fairies' dwelling fit. 

On the brow of hill at Lakewood, 

Passing near, I always look 

To catch a glimpse of Norah's darlings 

In that pretty woodland nook. 



TO MISS MAYMIE BANKS. 

She is gone, to the Northern clime, so cold. 

Our Maymie — And, how we do "mzs8" her; 
I wish this moment, that, I could enfold 

Her, unto my own heart, and kiss her! 
"Our oivn little Maymie^^ — (cry my little dears!) 

"Mignonne, don't you miss our own DearV 
And Elise, with her eyes suffused with tears. 
Cries, "Oh, me! It seems, like a year!^'' 
Come back, to our homes^ oh, Maymie, dear! 

Come back, to old Oeorgia''s shore! 
Our hearts will keep you, ever near. 

Our loves, follow you, evermore! 
But the grand sunshine over our Southern clime, 

Its Heavenly brightness, its genial air 
That warms, as I write this simple rhyme, 

Is not to be found, dearie, there. 
Away in the sleet, and cold, and the snow. 

Mid the blizzards and driving rain, 
Our own little Maymie, why did you go? 

Come back, our own darling, again. 
Your room is empty — Its stillness seems 

Like a sad souvenir of the Past; 
Like the shadows dim, of dear lovely dreams, 

Too beautiful, aye, to last. 
Come back, my child, our Maymie petite — 

Dear, precious one, how we do miss you! 
Your love, and unselfishness — Ah, pretty Sweet 

If I could tenderly fold you, and kiss you. 



3T 



TO MISS MIRIAM C. TILLMAN. 

As at my easel I labored, 

Invoking the spirit of Art, 

So near me, she worked also 

At her own. As we sat, my heart 

Was attracted this fair girl by — 

A girl, who drew me straight 

To her, by that fair, angelic face, 

As quietly there she sate; 

And I grew to love this maiden, 

As, day by day, we came 

At our easels, laboring jointly. 

Adoring art the same; 

And I soon was pleased to discover. 

In Miriam^s soul and mind, 

A woman, all loving, and lovely — 

Cultured, bright and refined! 



TO MRS ANNIE HUNTER. 
(Our Rector's Wife.) 

If, in human flesh and form, 

The Angels walked this mundane sphere, 

I'd seek thee first, and I would say, 

I know this gentle woman dear. 

So patient, charitable, sweet; 

So lovely in her womanhood 

Of purity and gentleness, 

Unselfishness, and missions good, 

Can nothing less than Angel be! 

Model of home's best ornament — 

In loving kindness pass the years, 

In sacred, holy duties bent. 



TO MRS. FLORIDA ABERCROMBIE SMITH. 

Sweet Memory, takes me to the time 
When you, and I, Dear, long ago, 
Too:ether went to Nashville's clime! 



38 



(Ah, how the years all swiftly flow!) 

What comforts were we to each other, 

Among so many strangers there — 

Bearing our mal-du-pays together 

As only loving hearts can share! 

Then, when Society, you, claimed 

And crowned you its bright, shining star. 

Still, in my heart, your memory framed 

Yet lives, through all those years afar! 

Then, as a Bride, all beautiful — 

Then Motherhood bequeathed her gift, 

And filled your cup of blessing full. 

As still, the years flowed on, adrirt ! 

Still beautiful, as memory keeps 

Her dial fair, but not dear Friend 

As now! for Sorrow's wave, that sweeps 

O'er all, or soon, or late — to blend 

Its background, meet for light — as weeps 

The slender Willow in the storm— ^ 

But when 'tis passed, new strength has gained 

And, in new beauty, as Sun's rays transform 

Once more to loveliness, attained 

By test of strength — so, to me, now 

I see upon your dear, sweet face — 

Upon that scarce yet furrowed brow. 

Around those classic lips 

I trace a beauty, and a strength — unseen, 

Unknown to you — in all these years 

When youth, and all that life's bright sheen 

Might give — in glory did appear! 

Brave woman! unexcelled to strive 

With life's emergencies — so blest, 

For its oivn ti^ue mission, still to live! 

So strong to 6ear so well the crucial test ! 

The ideal of a fond, unselfish mother! 

AhoYQ false pride, not scorning duties, any! 

Has life best aims, than these, another 

Purer, higher, in her fields so many? 

So when the Master's summons call 



39 



Is heard, so softly on thy way, 
May each hard trial — each, and all — 
Lead, Friend, ''unto the perfect dayP' 



TO MISS ANNIE SHINGLEUR, OF JACKSON, MISS. 

This handsome girl, is rare, unique — 

Most independent, she! 
Impressive in her personel, 
Charming and grand, to see! 
Not influenced by every wind 

And wave of circumstance; 
Her brilliant mind, speaks in her face. 
And dark eye's lucid glance — 
In face, and form, and character, 

A splendid woman, she, 
In all her moods of coquetry, 

A girl, I love to see! 



TO MRS. PAULINE VIRGINIA CARRINGTON, OF 
MILLEDGEVILLE, GA. 

Sweet cousin mine, in this wide world of change, 

'Tis good, sometimes to surely find 

A woman, in whose life, the virtues many 

So true, and high, in you combined; 

Beloved by all, because of this, 

Because thy heart, like a clear stream 

Reflecting to the world outside. 

Its pure, transparent, crystal gleam — 

No falseness — naught but living Truth 

And kindness, sweet unselfishness 

And faithful love, find resting place 

Within thy soul, so formed, to bless! 

My heart's allegiance, cherished one 

Thou hast! as long as life shall claim 

Me — brighter light can ne'er illume 

Its path, than thoughts of thy dear name! 



40 



TO MRS. MARY LOU JONES BRUCE, OF WELLS VILLE, N. Y. 

Oh, sweet as the song of a purlin.i»' brook 

Winding its way, in summer, along, 
Is her rippling laugh — and her blue eyes look 

Soft, appealing! Ah, tame is my song 
Of her lovely self — Since a little child 

She has seemed to me, like a dream 
Of Love! Sweet, confiding, all undefiled 

By any sham, or feint — the gleam 
Of her soul, doth shine in her truthful face, 

Luminous, beautiful, and fair! 
And, all that a pure heart, makes it, I trace 

In the freshness glowing there! 
Mary Lou, dear Pet, my heart would implore 

Fate's richest dower on thee! 
I love thee, Sweet, as in days of yore 

And will, dear heart, eternally! 



TO MESDAMES ELVIE FLEWELLEN SHINGLEUR, OF JACKSON, 
MISS., AND LOTTIE WEEMS JOHNSON, OF ALABAMA. 

Sweet Elvie! always gentle, always dear! 

Adown the waste of years I love to gaze — 

While memory pauses at the old School-house, 

When you and I were happy — Golden days! 

And you were sometimes pleased to hear me read 

Amid those sylvan shades, in olden Time, 

My childish tributes to the inspiring muse 

And listen to my schoolgirl's simple Rhyme — 

And, now again, though we, by wind and tide, 

Have drifted far apart — in years, and change, 

And sorrows dark, between — memories abide. 

That once again my muse t'involTe, constrain 

Compelling me to send this leaflet, sweet 

And fresh, from my own heart to you, dear Friend — 

Laden with weight of smiles and tears, as sweet 

From Friend to Friend, who, since those childish years 

Have kept the chalice of fond memory 

Decked with one immo?- telle — both you and I ! 



41 

Affection's dews still keeping them, all fair to see ! 
And Lottie, too ! how near she seems to stand ! 
In pictures of that fairy, far-gone time ! 
It seems, as if those children were almost 
Some olhera — and not we, ourselves! that clime, 
Another world, more fair, more soft, more bright 
Than now, so strange the passing years transform 
Us, as it were; and yet, dear Lottie — Friend ! 
Beloved still! Your heart that once was warm, 
With true affection's fire, I feel, remains 
The mme, in that, Dear — ^judging by my own ! 
For, vain are all the changes, griefs, or pains. 
To dim the picture's light, or touch, or tone ! 
The picture of those happy, gladsome years ! 
How sweetly do they now return to us 
Amid our realistic life ! Like soft 
Sweet pealing of the plaintive Angelus ! 



TO MISS FLORIDA WELLBORN. 

Sauntering my garden walks along, 

'Mid many a blossom fair and sweet, 
Grouped here and there the beds among— 

A flowery carpet at my feet. 
O'er head soft notes of wild birds' song; 
Thinking, especially, just then 

Of one loved friend — a charming girl — 
Her type not often met, I ken — 

I said, oh! lily white, unfurl 
Your leaves, that I may trace, with pen 
The image of my fair young friend, 

Closely resembling thee, fresh flower, 
As graceful on the stem you bend 

And wield your witching fairy power. 
Oh! lily leaves, your sweetness lend. 
Your grace, your beauty, all combine, 

Your fragrance, and your pearly gleam. 
So like this dainty friend of mine, 

An Angel's fingers surely seem 



42 



T'have touched the petals, pure, divinel 
For she is fair and tall like you. 

With beauty, color, grace repletel 
Rare gifts of mind, and spirit, too! 

Xor would my picture l)e complete. 
Were she less good, and sweet, and truel 
But she is all that I would ask. 

For thy fair prototype, proud flowerl 
And so it seems an easy task, 

As here I stroll in summer bower, 
Amid these blossoms rare, to bask, 
To single out this lily fair. 

Bending above my garden walk — 
A queen amid such myriads rare. 

With Florida to sweetly talk, 
While fragrance lades the summer airl 
So does her life's perfume pervade 

Insensibly, or near or far. 
All whom she knows. Oh. wondrous maidi 

Unto my hean thou'st grown so dear, 
I feel that these few words I've said 
Fail utterly all to convey. 

Or half of what thou'st been to me, 
"In happy moments, day by day;" 

And — more — when sorrow heavily 
Her burden laid, without one ray. 
It seemed, of hope or glimm'ring light, 

From out those depths to gently lead 
Once more into life's regions bright. 

Pointing to the blue sky o'er head, 
Leading from out dark sorrow's night — 
No touch fell softer dear, than thine, 

Nor tears more sweet or more sincerel 
And so I claim thee, love, as mine 

Among the casket's treasures dear, 
Friendship's own wealth, rare and divinel 
Fain would I in a bouquet bind 

Our many happy days together 
Spent! Some with gold and crimson twined. 



43 



Some with the grey of wintry weather; 
All blessed with thy presence kind! 
I will not look into the future's scroll, 

Xor with prophetic vision ask 
Its mystic pages to unroll 

Their leaves — not mine, this task: 
Rather into thine own pure soul 
Would I its limpid depths survey. 

And read in its transparency, 
The pure, unsullied, white array 

Which there my heart can always ?>ee. 
Nor fear that it will fade away! 
E'en as the sunset in our clime. 

For concentration luminous 
With gold, and crimson, more sublime 

Than noon's rich gleams diaphanous, 
Inscribed upon the disc of Time. 
So may thy life, all beautiful 

And useful, dear, remain: 
Her choicest blossoms may'st thou cull! 

Thy heart its perfume ever retain. 
Of joy and love, and sweetness full! 



TO >nSS BENNIE FOXTAIXE. 

Like rippling water, clear and bright 

Is Bennie! 
I wist not, if a form more light. 

If any 
Pretty laughing maid, e'er sways 

More hearts. 
If any. hath more winning ways. 

Coy arts. 
Than Bennie! "Dainty she is, petite — 

Bright eyes 
Sparkling with fire, a voice so sweet, 

Defies 
The music of the warblins: bird. 

Or bell. 



44 



When, softly, on the air is heard 

Its spell! 
A clear, soft, tinkling bell, at eve 

We love! 
Or like a dream, that cloudlets weave 

Above, 
This toiling world! Like all of these, 

Imbued 
With magic power, to charm and please! 

Denude 
Life, of its many carking cares 

Is she, 
Who, now my mornings shares! 

To be 
A captivating, beauteous Belle — 

To fetter 
Hearts, and own their smiles, is well. 

But better 
Far, "than this, than these, than allV 

Her power 
Rich in its gifts of homers sweet thrall, 

Her dower! 
If, in Society, she shine a star 

So bright; 
Her radiance illume afar, 

Whose light, 
A beacon is, on Life's vast sea — 

T' imbue 
Strong manly hearts, the "good" to see. 

The true, 
More brightly still, around the hearth 

And hearts 
Of home, blest spot of all the earth! 

Imparts, 
Like benediction sweetly breathed. 

The might 
Of her sweet presence, wreathed 

In light, 



45 



Her beaming face, and graces bear 

A kind 
Sweet, nameless captivative, rare 

To find! 



TO MRS. CLOTILDE DE L. HINES. 

I love to think of thee, Tedie dear, 

As the merry sprite of yore. 
With flaxen ringlets, laughing eyes; 

Such dimples, as ne'r before 
Played "hide and seek," on any cheek, 

With mischief brimming o'er! 
Warm heart, merry, tender and true. 

Nor is this half the score 
Of all the charms her beauty claimed. 

Nor, of her heart, the store 
Replete — in all that I have named. 

And fondl}^ counted o'er! 
Peace, crown thy present, future years. 

With all her sweet content; 
With all the gifts her fullness bears 

Bv Heavenlv Angels lent! 



THE LADY OF BELMONT. 

TO MISS MARY E. COOK. 

How shall I paint my Lady fair. 

Queen fairy, of Belmont ? 
Her classic face — her rich, brown hair, 

My peerless Rose Bi-ahant ! 
Gracious, and winning in her mien — 

Vivacious, bright, piquante ! 
Never was lovelier woman seen. 

Than, Lady of Belmont ! 
Eyes sparkling from her deep, pure soul, 

In voice and all, cliarmante! 
Oh 1 Skies, and Flowers, your sweets unroll 

For her, of fair Belmont ! 



46 



That I may better draw and paint 

Her brow, and form, and face — 
Fair maiden ! of that mansion quaint, 

Can I, her beauties trace? 
With queenly grace and dignity, 

Sweet courtesy bestows — 
Bright with her presence, regally 

That quaint old mansion glows ! 
That mansion, handed down of yore 

From Southern sire to son ! 
'Though ante helium days no more 

May shine its walls upon, 
Still stands the slanting hill-top fair 

With o'er arching trees, 
Ancestral glories still are there, 

Grand, as one ever sees ! 
The Yandal's ''raid?^ left them unharmed — 

Themes, yet, for song, or story. 
The fine old Homstead still is warmed 

By Southern sun's rich glory ! 
Shine on ! fair orb, and shed thy rays 

Upon this Home of Beauty ! 
Its mistress gifted in the ways 

Of Love, and Song, and Duty ! 
Fair Mistress of Belmont, I sweep 

My lyre's sweet chords once more. 
Invoking Destiny to heap 

Her cup, all running o'er 
With every gift that life may own 

Desirable, on thee I 
Long may rich Fortune, shower upon 

Thy lot, her fealty ! 
In all that makes this life, a token 

Of that which is to come ! 
My thoughts, fair maid, are faintly spoken- 

Yet do they, straightway, from 
Mine inmost soul, find feeble way to thee, 

And thither, frequent wend 
Fraught, with its friendly embassy, 



47 



This tribute, now I send ! 
Long may you reign the fairy Queen, 

As still, in beauty wont : 
For none, e'er lovelier was seen, 

Than Lady of Belmont! 

>K >K 'H 

And yet, — I bid a moment stay ! 

Thou missive of my heart ! 
For, can I on thy loving way 

Bid thee so soon depart 
Until I add, all reverently, 

As softly falls the hour 
Of twilight, o'er the world and me 

With all her mystic power ! 
Whispering all gently, in her spell — 

Of those now passed beyond 
The portals of that misty line, I love so well ! 

Dreams dear and fond 
Are mingled in those gathering shades — 

The Day and Night between — 
And those dear ones, beyond these glades 

In silence soft, are seen ! 
I think of her, beloved and sweet — 

Thine own dear mother — friend ! 
And feel that, it is only meet 

One rose, within; to send. 
To her pure, spotless memory — 

To her so gifted — loved — 
Whose halo follows softly on thee — 

As erst, on earth, she moved 
And gave the world a legacy 

Of womanhood's best type — 
From vain pretense, and shams, so free; 

Of mind and heart so ripe 
With rarest gems — thy mother dear! 

So be thy life, sweet friend, 
Like her, whom still we all revere ! 

And now I gently send 
This little missive. Speed thy way 



48 



As fast as thou art wont, 
And take this simple friendly lay 

To her, of fair Belmont! 
Speed ! where the blushing roses sweet 

Vie, with her cheeks, charmante — 
To her, for every blessing meet, 

The Lady of Belmont ! 



MY LITTLE WILD DAISY 

TO MISS DAISY SHORTER 

Strolling the woodland sweets, amid 

One summer's morn, 
I spied a Daisy, almost hid 

By tangled thorn 
Of glossy, clustering bamboo vine 

Trailing on ground. 
Claiming the pretty flowret mine 

Which there I found, 
I pinned it near my heart, and wore. 

Still thinking then 
Of her whose name the flowret bore 

In this wild glen! 
Dear, dainty little friend of mine. 

This namesake sweet 
Bears fitting semblance fair of thine, 

With charms replete! 
For as it blooms all undefiled, 

Blushing unseen. 
Exquisite in its freshness wild. 

Like you, I ween. 
Unconscious of its beauty rare, 

As dews impearl 
Its snowy petals, sweet and fair. 

So you, dear girl, 
For me full many a charm possess; 

Because not vain. 
Because you do not seek t' impress 



49 



And thereby gain, 
On basis false, from any one. 

Their admiration. 
'Tis in THIS way that yon have won 

My heart's libation. 
In all your saucy, winsome ways. 

There is a spell 
More potent than the Siren plays, 

And ivears so well, 
Because we know you as you are. 

My pretty dear! 
Like radiance of some far-oif star. 

Distant but clear, 
Which must be sought. We see, when found, 

A pure, soft light, 
Steadfast and safe, shedding around 

Effulgence bright, 
Whose emanations softly warm 

Those fortunate 
Enough to find thy worth! No harm 

Could mar the fate 
Of one so chaste as thou art, dear; 

And so I take 
This Daisy wild I found, and wear 

For thine own sake 
This blossom white! And so I send 

My simple rhyme. 
Asking a kindly thought, sweet friend, 

As rolling time 
Shall bear us on its tide so swift; 

In future years 
When thou the veil shall softly lift 

With smiles and tears, 
And memories through those vistas green 

In beauty rise. 
You'll deem this simple rhyme, I ween, 

Not all unwise! 



50 



TO MISS GERTRUDE EBERHART. 

She must be my Crimson Meteor, 

My red rose, in completeness, 
With all her sweet mother's beauty, 

A portion of her sweetness! 
Glorious in coloring, and feature 

So bright, and fresh and gay, 
Laughing with blithsome merriment 

And happy as the day ! 
No gloom can ever long abide 

In presence of her brightness, 
Complaining hides her visage chill, 

And darkness yields to lightness ! 
Long may your roses brightly glow, 

Long ma}^ your beauty flourish! 
Affection's mission truly learned 

That mother's heart to nourish ! 
And, when old Time, with changeful touch 

Shall give thee to another, 
May Gertrude be as kind and true, 

As her own lovely mother.' 
Like her, in woman's best behest, 

In home's domain supreme; 
In Friendship, true as gold refined, 

Possessing love's pure gleam ! 



TO MISS MARIE BLANDFORD. 

She is my little snowflake, 

Is Marie Blandford fair; 
A sunbeam, on a limpid lake, 

Shining in beauty there ! 
A perfect blonde, is sweet Marie, 

AH unsophisticated. 
And very dear, is she to me; 

Her charms, not overrated. 
Few hearts are warmer than her own, 

None more true I ween — 
You feel it, in her touch and tone. 



51 



She reigns a fairy Queen I 
Bright as a fresh rose, is her cheek, 

With merry, sparkling eyes; 
And, far indeed, must Poet seek, 

To find a gem that vies 
With my own Marie, sweet and dear! 

Beauty and worth are her's, 
Her many virtues, love sincere. 

My true affection stirs ! 



TO MISS MARY LOU REDD. 

Like some quaint Cameo, carved by skillful hand 

Of artist rare, clear-cut, and classic, stand 

Out those features — Beauteous maiden tall and fair! 

Some Grecian Goddess sure hath lent a share 

Of her divine bestowals, and made thee 

Dear girl, a picture beautiful to see ! 



TO MRS. NELLIE COOPER FREDERICK. 

My stately pink Camelia she 
With stamp of Aristocracy 

In features and in mien — 
A handsome woman as you'll meet. 
With courteous manners, voice as sweet 

As Flowers on green 
And grassy lawn — home's light is she 
And truly too, deserves to be 

The idol of her mother! 
With equal grace, she reigns a Queen! 
Respect, affection, all are seen 

To husband, mother, brother! 
Long may you Nellie dear, be spared 
To light that home, so sweetly shared 

By thee in Duty's task — 
To bless, make happy, loved ones there; 
Could 1 select a sweeter prayer. 

Or higher blessings ask? 



52 

TO MISS WILLIE BLANKENSHIP. 

Do you know this woodland Fairy? 
Flitting, laughing, making happy 

All day long, 
All who know, and come about her. 
With her blithesome sweet mirth-making 

And her song ! 
She is winsome, is my Willie, 
And her eyes are bright and sparkling 

With delight! 
And her cheeks are fair and rosy — 
And her coming brings its welcome, 

Sweet and bright! 
Soft, abundant golden tresses 
And her laughing lips revealeth 

Teeth of pearl! 
And we catch her sweet contagion 
Cheery, mischievous, yet loving 

Of this girl. 
Of this girl, like rosy springtime! 
Like ripe cherries to be gathered 

In their red — 
Like a rose, just in perfection, 
With its breath of purest incense 

From its bed! 
Dearest, charming, winsome Willie! 
Darling Friend, how dear I love thee, 

None can tell! 
All the joy that thou hast given. 
All the sorrow thou hast solaced 

With thy spell! 
I shall love thee. Dear, forever, 
Long as Time's strange mystic waters 

Bear me on — 
Far away, o'er heath and meadow, 
Lonely forests, wildernesses. 

All alone! 
In the great fierce tide of battle, 



53 



With its humaD hopes, endeavors, 

To the goal 
Where Faith ends, and Love immortal 
Shall become high aspirations 

Of the soul! 
With a coronal of glory 
Brighter far than earthly laurel — 

Fadeless, too! 
Far beyond the sunset's crimson, 
Far above those dreamy vistas, 

I look through! 



THE TWO FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

TO MESDAMES MARIA NELSON WOOLFOLK AND 
ROSA NELSON TICKNOR. 

Two sisters gliding, hand in hand, 
Along life's sloping, pebbly strand, 

Together; 
United, heart, and soul and mind. 
Most of their pilgrimage behind, 

And whether 
The sun shines brightly overhead. 
Or, with clouds lowering o'erspread. 

They feel 
Each other's sorrows and their joy, 
Exchanging many a sweet employ; 

Jn weal 
Or dark misfortune — always one, 
In sympathy and love, upon 

The waste 
Of life's strong, surging sea, their boat 
Glides smooth! O'er the blue waves they float. 

As traced 
In soft, white undulating lines, 
As wistful vision clear defines 

Its way! 
Nearing the haven is the barque, 



64 



The anchor almost cast — and, hark! 

Away, 
In unseen dwelling, heard but hid. 
Do we not hear a soft voice bid 

Them list! 
A moment to a weird, sweet song, 
Vibrating all the waves along. 

And, wist 
Ye not whence comes the soft, sweet strain, 
Echoing low from boundless main? 

I know 
Well whence those holy carols come. 
Bidding these mariners, bound for home, 

In slow, 
Soft measures of the ebb and tide 
Of calm waves, rowing side by side. 

The voice 
Of her they loved so well in life, 
With gentle words, and deeds of kindness rife, 

"Rejoice! 
Clear comes the mystic, strange refrain, 
The death you moiu^n was my great gain! 

I wait 
Your coming, sisters dear; not with tears. 
Nor any vain regrets, nor fears! 

If fate 
Could to you my new bliss reveal, 
Could Heaven to mortals lift the seal, 

And let 
You glimpse one moment, realms within, 
Where ne'er has entered pain nor sin — 

Beset 
By not one care, or doubt, or drear 
Mischance, dear sisters, not a tear 

Would dim 
Your mortal eyes, nor on your heart 
Would fall a shadow — if, could part 

The rim 
Of happy mist, your eyes and me between, 



55 



How short the years that intervene! 

Recall 
Me only in your memory 
As ahvays happy, as some dav you'll be, 

And all 
The love we cherished fondly when 
I walked about your midst, and then 

Remember, 
When here, eternal is our love, so dear 
No power of time or death can e'er 

Dismember! 
Sisters, sail calmly o'er life'e sea, 
Obedient to Him, nearer and nearer me! 

With strong 
And steady oars row; the night 
Is coming on apace, but bright 

With song 
Of the redeemed] I wait you here! 
Ask not in vain, "Pilot, what cheer?" 

But trust 
Hint at the helm! His guiding power 
Ne'er falters, not in darkest hour, 

And must. 
If you have faith, land safe on shore. 
The reefers passed, the storm-clouds o'er, 

To dwell 
With me and all our loved ones here! 
Sisters, 'til then (e're many a passing year), 

Farewell!" 



TO MRS. AMELIE COMPTON SWIFT. 

If beautiful Venus, of yore, were here 

''For the fairest" th' inscription to claim, 
No discord that fair assembly would stir. 

For the apple of antique Fame 
Would fall at thy feet, oh! lady fair. 

So charming, so cultured, refined, 
A heavenly vision of loveliness rare, 

Beautv's own imaffe enshrined! 



56 

AN INSPIRATION. 
They are not far — those blessed Angel faces, 

And forms, so precious to us, once on earth — 
Like stars, amid the radiance of their light eternal 

With glory of their new created birth ! 
They are not long — those years that yet divide us 

From voyagers all safely anchored there — 
Mingled with harps, and voices triumphant. 

Floats the refrain all softly sweet, and clear; 
Not indistinct, the echo of that music. 

Their tones responsive, individualize — 
As listening to the hallowed, mellow cadence 

We hush our breath, and straiu our eager eyes — 
Nor are they dark, the spaces intervening — 

We, on this side — they, just those clouds beyond ! 
Encircling us, with nameless love o'erweening. 

And intonations, dear, familiar, fond ! 
Before that world of wondrous glory — 

(Awhile to human ken and sight unknown — ) 
Faith pauses — and the veil to lift refuses. 

But whispers : "Weary wanderer, in this world alone, 
Be patient, and with gentle touch, be truthful — 

For the great Sea Captain's voice will call some day, 
And the toilers by the lonely sounding sea 

Shall embark for realms of endless, blissful Day ! " 



TO MRS. FRANCES HURT. 

Who does not know "Aunt Fanny," dear. 

Fair Wynnton's dame, revered ? 
Full many a changeful, checkered year, 

Full many a scene endeared 
By nameless memories, have passed above 

Her life, and ours. Among 
Those dear, familiar haunts of love, 

A hallowed, sacred throng 
Of faces — forms of long ago, 

Unbidden, come to me! 
Their smiles, and tears, and loves bestow, 



57 

As with simplicity 
Of my heart's own affection pure, 

I here these mem'ries trace — 
Nor many are more loved, or truer, 

Than her's, whose name I place 
Upon this page. Far back in years 

Of distant childhood's time — 
(How bright and beautiful the garb she wears,) 

How dear the dear loved chime 
Of that remembered, ancient bell 

That called to Sabbath school — 
The rustic "Brick School House." Oh, tell 

Me ! as ye swiftly roll. 
Ye years that softly come and go, 

In shadow and in sheen. 
Can life e'er hold another glow- 
In years that roll between — 
As bright, and cloudless, as when we, 

"Aunt Fanny's" pupils were? 
The quaint old "Brick Academy !" 

On Sunday gathered there, 
Pauline Semmes, and Becca, and I — 

Elvie, and Lottie, too. 
Am I, that same identity 

As then ? Nay, look not through 
That vista! 'It cometh not again," 

Aunt Fann}", nor for you, dear heart, 
Nor yet for me ! In vain 

To dream — nor would I impart 
A sadness, in these memories, 

With spells of witchery — 
Yet, o'er the landscape, my heart sees, 

Dreams of infinity ! 
And, all along that bygone path, 

Aunt Fanny, thy dear form. 
So oft, in blessed brightness hath 

Like sunshine after storm. 
Risen, in "beautiful relief," 

The wreck of years amid — 

(3) 



58 



All interspersed with joy and grief, 

The sunshine hid 
Awhile — not ever quite erased — 

Because God's mercy ever lives ! 
Nor to the true soul is effaced 

The soul that always strives 
To see His Own, true, faithful hand 

Leading us on, and on, 
Through darksome wild, to Eden's Land, 

When life's strange toil is done — 
If it shall add one sunny ray 

To thy declining year — 
If, it shall make some lonely day 

Less dreary to appear, 
For you to know that deep adown 

Within my heart's recess, 
' Mid all the years that e'er have flown 

With their strange change and stress 
Of life's vicissitudes, to you, 

Aunt Fanny dear, and me. 
Amidst it all, remembrance true, 

And soft, and sweet, to see. 
With gentle touch and tender tone. 

Hath brought your image near 
My heart, and like a silver zone. 

You seem to me to wear 
The clasp that truly binds together. 

The Now, and Long ago, 
The Wintry, and the Summer weather. 

The years that softly flow! 
The goodness of your life's impress 

Reflected is, on many; 
And, if I now were asked to guess. 

If I thought there were any — 
By old or young, more loved, revered, 

On Georgia's soil, than thou — 
I'd place with love, by time endeared. 

The chaplet on thy brow! 
Long may you live, to bless the Earth, 



59 

Thy cheerfulness to lend — 
Our grand old land-mark, of true worth, 

The Past and Present blend! 
You may perhaps, dear friend, remain 

Far longer here, than I — 
The reading of our life's refrain, 

The when, and how, and why, 
From mortal vision is withheld, 

And wisely is it so; 
Sometimes the slender willow felled. 

While yet, in Summer's glow — 
Leaving the grand Ancestral Oak, 

A hundred years, or more! 
And, so this blessing I invoke. 

On you as years pass on — 
May all, that it is best to have 

Be given here, to thee. 
And as Time's Ocean surges lave 

Its shores unwearily. 
Whatever sunshine or of gloom, 

Be portioned in this life — 
May Fate's strange parti-colored loom 

Weave in her web, so rife 
With changes, threads of shining light 

And crimson colors glow — 
May Peace, that Dovelet, pure and white- 
Life's sweetest sweets to know. 
Nestle all softly near thy heart. 

My loved Aunt Fanny dear, 
Her holy restfulness impart, 

Thy solitude to cheer! 
And, if before me, thou shalt hear 

The Angel's whispering call — 
May'st thou, without one shadowy fear, 

With nothing to appall — 
Go forth, into those realms, arrayed 

In robes of spotless white — 
Hearing His voice— "Be not afraid!" 

"I am thy Life, and Light!" 



60 



And dear, when thou hast reached that fair 

And fadeless bliss, (unseen 
Till gained,) Say, to my loved ones there — 

(No longer, mists between) — 
That I, a message send by thee, 

And ask them, keep a place 
Next to them, side by side, for me! 

If you should trace 
The least suggestion in their Angel faces, 

Of any lingering wo — 
If sorrow for my life, still leave her traces. 

Or any token show, 
They still are grieving for their loved "first born"- 

Pray tell them for me. Dear, 
That i, no longer sobbing and way-worn 

Lament life's riddles here. 
Tell them, with glad and thankful heart 

I go, from day to day. 
Nor pray rebellious to depart, 

Nor grieving still, to stay. 
But, waiting patiently, with soul 

To bear His gracious will — 
Hard striving, as the swift years roll 

To do His bidding still! 



TO DR. AND MRS. POWELL AND MRS. DONNELL, 
OF MILLEDGEVILLE, GA. 

Friends of my darksome, exiled years. 

Beloved, revered and dear. 
Through vistas made of smiles and tears, 

I write your memories here; 
My little brochure, incomplete. 

Without a loving word 
From my true heart unto your own; 

And so a little bird 
I call, and 'ere it erst hath flown 

Away into its keeping. 
Entrust these lines, my very own, 



61 



In love's sweet chalice steeping! 
So straightway from my heart to yours, 

Dear friends of other days, 
A flood of mingled mem'ries pours 

All o'er these simple lays. 
As I, in grateful love recall 

With sacred memory 
Each one, remembering fondly all 

That ye have been to me; 
Nature^s nobility can claim 

No standard nobler, higher, 
Nor grander characters hath Fame, 

Divinity none nigher 
Than those to whom these lines I send. 

In deepest gratitude; 
Whe'er in life my ways may wend, 

I pray that every good 
Within the power of fate to send 

May on your pathway fall, 
Whate'er fair fortune can create. 

The highest, best of all! 
You will rejoice, to hear, I know. 

How happy I have been 
Since we have parted, long ago — 

(Great natures are akin 
To sympathy — its first component part — 

Gi-eat hearts are always tender !) 
And ye possess this kindly art — 

And I, the grateful sender — 
Ye loved your goodness to bestow 

In darksome years agone — 
So now, I bid this Rhyme to flow. 

All musical, upon 
This page — and fain would I employ 

This little Carrier Dove 
To waft to you some of my joy 

On its white wings of love ! 
Thrice blessed have these glad years been, 
God has been good and kind — • 



62 



Above the strife of worldly din, 

Leading me, rest to find — 
Friends have been loyal, true and sweet. 

And, if the storms have rolled 
Sometimes in fierceness, it is meet — 

The shadows with the gold 
Must mingle, for a while, to shew 

In radiance, bright and blest. 
The glorious crimson "after-glow," 

The calm, sweet, peaceful JRest! 
I ask no chronicle of Fame — 

Nor world's eclat be mine. 
The only guerdon that I claim, 

Would be, upon the shrine 
Of womanhood, to purely place 

A heart, true and refined 
With life's best motives, there to trace 

In lines, clear and defined. 
The purpose of the higher life — 

Each day try to bestow 
Some sunshine on another — Rife 

With sweetness, this to know! 
Perhaps a tear, for some love-token, 

Less bitterly may flow, 
For one kind word, all softly spoken, 

As the days come and go; 
And I would ask another boon 

From fate's rich boundless mine, 
(Mayhap you'll smile, friends, as I croon 

This strange and simple line), 
But oh! the wealth of joy it brings. 

Than gold of millionaire; 
Better than notes the song-bird sings, 

Sweeter, and far more rare! 
It is a spirit that can bear 

Whatever fate bestows! 
Then will life surely, for us, wear 

Sunshine coleur de rose! 
Place all life's strange contingencies 



63 



Upon that spotless altar; 
Duty must loin hei^ argosies 

With aims that never falter! 
And as my silver-pinioned bird 

Flies over hill and river, 
Warbling the praises of our Lord 

Ever, and still forever — 
I see the blue clouds ope apace 

Of canopy so fair, 
And in those shimm'ring rifts, I trace 

Clear, written in the air, 
A sermon grander than e'er heard 

From saintly, surpliced priest — 
Something like this — (of holy word 

And precepts not the least) — 
When Heaven's bright portals shall unroll 

For weary pilgrims' feet, 
High on that white and shining scroll, 

With never a tear-stained sheet, 
Inscribed in lines indelible, 

Embellished with the light 
Of radiance ineffable — 

Pure, and calm, and bright 
Will live the names of those, who here 

Ne^er faltered in their trust — 
Unwavering, strong, and sincere — 

And ''numbered with the justP^ 



TO MY SERENADERS. 

MISSES ELISE HANSERD, BELLE HANSERD, NELLIE HUDSON, 
EVA SALISBURY. 

Who, but your own sweet winsome selves. 
Ye pretty, fluttering, chattering elves. 

My blithesome serenaders — 
Could bring such merriment and fun. 
When the day's dull task is done. 

My welcome night-invaders? 
How joyous is their ringing laughter, 



64 



Refreshing, and contagious, after 

Day's dull toil is over — 
Each with a gladsome greeting word 
Like chirpings of some cheery bird 

Amid her beds of clover! 
The world is better, for your being, 
And I am happier for your seeing, 

And life is brighter far, 
Because your sweet young lives make lighter 
Earth, air, and sky! And night is brighter, 

Where shineth, each a star! 
I love ye. Dearies, every one 
Who, to the pilgrim woman lone, 

Such delight has brought! 
Sweet serenaders, come again. 
Nor is your happy mission vain. 

The magic, you have wrought. 



TO MY GUITAR. 

Wake! once more to strains of gladness 

As I sweep thy sweet chords o'er. 
Far too long thou'st sung of sadness, 

Wake to gladsome notes once more! 
Sweet companion! ah, how often 

Hast thou soothed a human heart, 
Thine the gift to cheer and soften 

Life's sad hours, joy to impart. 
As the moonlight bathes the earth in 

Radiant glory of her sheen. 
Unseen hands to Angels' kin 

Paint the wondrous moonlight scene; 
Or Cco-equal in their might) 

When "stars, the poetry of heaven," 
Pearls the canopy of night 

With glorious grandeur, surely given 
To lift our minds and hearts aloft; 

No other strains sound half so sweet. 
So restful, as the cadence soft, 



65 



For joy's ^lad hours or sorrow's meet- 
Out in the mystic summer nip^ht, 

The breeze cool greetin<^ from afar; 
Toil is over, sweet and light 

Falls music of the soft Guitar! 



TO LITTLE ELISE SHEPHERD. 

Oh! my Baby! my darling! my wee dimpled elf! 
My Fairy of Beauty! None like your sweet self, 

None so fair! 
If I sin, in thus loving, this wee winsome thing; 
(So tame seem the praises these simple Rhymes sing); 

Dehonaire! 
She ispiquante and saucy — she's gladsome and gay — 
Frolicsome, laughing, the whole livelong day 

Is Elise! 
I kiss her, and pet her, but try not to spoil her — 
I pray, that no shadow of sin, e'er will soil her. 

Dear Elise! 
Her eyes are like stars, resplendent to see — 
Her voice floats like music amid her gay glee 

As she shouts 
Peals of laughter in her frolic and fun, 
And e'en when sometimes her song is scarce done 

And she pouts — 
E'en then — like a rosebud, her dainty red lips. 
Like a Fairy had touched with the prettiest tips 

Of her brush — 
She is lovely! Trusting and bright, and oh, so beguiling! 
Whether sober, or romping, or pouting, or smiling! 

In the hush 
Of soft sleep, like a cherub reposing [closing. 

With the deep fringed eyelids, o'er those wondrous orbs 

And she sees 
In her slumbers, those Baby-land wonders, [ponders, 
And waking, she long on these strange dreams still 

Bonnie Elise! 



66 

BABY'S FIRST GRIEF. 

Pit-a-pat-pit, sound the wee feet 

Over the hall floor, into my room — 
Baby stands in the door-way, cunning and sweet. 

With cheeks like June roses in bloom! 
"Tee — Moder — tee!" sweetly lisp the lips red — 

Tripping still nearer, 'til close to my side — 
" Wobbin, mine — Moder," the quaint words she said, 

"Me fine him — Wobin mine! Moder" — she cried! 
She holds a red Robin, in her small dimpled hand. 

She has found 'neath the tall China tree — 
Of its berries he ate, and fell down in the sand, 

And Baby, the sprite, is in high glee. 
On my work table, near me, my sewing I laid — 

In my lap both the birdies I took. 
As, stroking the feathers of Redbreast, I said: 

Baby, mine, let me take him, and look 
At your beautiful bird? "No, Wobin mine! ^^ 

She persisted, as loth from her treasure to part — 
And her face wore a look, strange, divine — 

Like Raphael gives with his magic art 
To the Child whom the Virgin's arms entwine — 

Soft, pleading, and tender — wistful, and strange 
Her tresses of gold, with new light seemed to shine — 

Fearing to move, lest the picture would change. 
Red Robin breathed faintly — I know not why — 

If Baby had clasped her dear treasure too tight, [sigh; 
Or, if he'd been frightened — he now breathed his last 

Dead! with his plumage so gay, and so bright! 
Still less do I know where Baby had learned 

Aught of death. As I bent her little form o'er 
I saw by her streaming eyes, as she turned. 

She knew her pet Robin would return no more! 
Down from my lap she now softly slipped, [Moder me!" 

And sobbing in grief, "Wobin dead, Moder — Oh, 
C!asping him tightly, as onward she tripped, 

Nor paused, 'til she reached the old China tree! 
It was my darling's first feeling of grief — 

I followed behind, in mute sympathy — 



67 

She made him a grave, and with wild oak leaf 

And China blossoms, with her hands wee, 
She covered the tiny little mound ! 

Sophists, away with your dogmas, drear. 
That childhood ne'er grieves, with your lore profound, 

Baby's first grief was deep and sincere! 
Came Baby one day, when months many had flown, 

And, I thought, she had forgotten it quite — 
In one hand she held a wild rose, full blown — 

The other enclosed a Daisy white — 
" For Wobin's drave, Moder," she softly said. 

Holy is motherhood — God give me the power 
To guide her aright — was the prayer I prayed. 

God keep her, all tenderly, every hour! 
I followed once more, my Baby child. 

As she went again to the old China tree, 
And bending low — Oh! Undefiled ! 

She placed the flowers, with her hands wee, 
On the mound still there. Sweet and low, I heard, 

' Dod bess Wobin, and my Moder, too," 
As she bent o'er the grave of her Robin bird. 

As they fell from her lips, like honey dew! 



TO MRS. VIRGINIA LINDSEY AVOODRUFF. 

Beautiful Lady, since early years 
Of mine, I've always cherished you! 
Your character more brightly wears 
With all that's sweet, and pure, and true! 
Thy heart teems with that sympathy 
Christ taught his (earnest) followers here; 
Thy Christian life, so plain to see. 
Could only make me love, revere. 
Whene'er I think of thee, thy name, 
Could only make thee, friend, more dear, 
Enduring/ friendship, love to claim. 



68 

MY BOUQUET— GATHERED ON THIRD 
AVENUE. 

to mesdames 
Sarah Hall Bradley, Anna Jones Pease, 

Cynthia Hart Chappell, Carry Wynne Chancellor, 
Nettie Dozier Pou, Jennie Dozier Little, 

Nannie Leitner Howard, Pauline Ridgeway Clarke, 
Susie Welborn Blackmar. 
Augusta Benning Crawford, 
Rebecca Flournoy Hamburger, 

and misses 
Ellie May Bedell, Anne McDougald, 

Emily McDougald, Alma Williams. 

(My Cannas.) 
Look, at my group of Cannas grand! 
No handsomer, in all the land; 
Be ye the representative 
Of those, who, on this corner, live 
Sarah Bradleij, with her treasure 
Little Elizabeth, giving pleasure 
To all, within this mansion fair. 
Blessings on them, ever there. 
* * 

My Bunch of Sweet Peas, 
honorable mention(?) 

Six varieties, when all are told. 

Eyes sparkling, and laughing, and brimming with fun 
With faces of cherubs, and tresses of gold, 

A dear precious darling every one — 
My Bunch of Sweet Peas! 
Norman, and William, and Leonard, and Jack, 

Vivian, and Henry — a mischievous band — 
Of romping, and wrestling, and play, no lack, 

The happiest glad group, in all the land. 
This Bunch of Sweet Peas. 
I cull from my garden, a lovely bouquet — 



69 

Named for these Fairies — (Til have no other) 

Sweet as e'er grows, of the Flowers in May, 

And give this love-token to their darling Mother, 
Sweet Anna Jones Pease.' 

My Devonieusis Rose. 
My grand Devonieusis pi?i^ 

Will be her emblem here, I think — 
Graceful it hangs, so sweet and pure 

And long the odors, blooms, endure, 
And one fair bud, like pale sea-shell, 

Baby Loretta's name shall spell! 
Dear Cynthia Chappell, wear those Flowers — 

In early Spring, and Summer's hours. 
Through all the Autumn, still they bloom; 

Pray, near thy heart, dear, give them room. 

* ^ * 
* 

My Pink Moss-Rose Bud. 

Have you met today, my pink moss-rose? 

Opening, and showing its colors fair — 
Quaintly, its soft hues disclose, 

Scenting the earlv Springtime air. 
'Tis beautiful Elite May Bedell— 

A winsome girl, a Columbus Belle, 
Dainty and charming, blithesome is she, 

Good for the eyes, and heart, to see ! 

* , * 
* 

My Passaflora, 

One day when weary at the Car wayside 

Waiting to take my Homeward w^ay — 

Passing near me, as I sat, I spied 

A woman's face, to scan it well, I tried. 

For 'twas divinely sweet! so 'I asked one 

Who sat beside me (gazing still that face upon) 

"Tell me, of her who passed, her name? 

Susie Welborn Blackrnar, came 

The answer — and I said, her face 



70 

Is lovely, wistful, gentle 'tis, and sweet 

As a Madonna's! and so, 'tis meet 

To call her Passiflora — one for her and Baby wee, 

So I send these Flowers to her, from me ! 

* ^ * 

My Bridesmaid's Roses. 
See! how these Roses gleam in light, 

What splendid color — odors rare! 
Than Anne and Emily, not more bright 

Or beautifal, or fair! 



My Crimson Rambler Rose. 
Have you seen the "Crimson Rambler," 
That quaint, new blushing Rose? 
Have you watched the lovely blossoms, 
In the sunlight as it glows? 
See it, and then tell me truly 
If it be not sweet CanHe^s type. 
With her rich, full noontide beauty 
Like those blossoms hanging ripe? 

My Apple Blossom. 
I'm glad you've come, this Summer, 

Nannie, my neighbor for to be; 
I love your pleasant company, 

And cheerful face to see! 
So merry, chatting, as you are, 

And little "toddling" too; 
When you return to town again. 

Whatever shall I do? 
Take thou, these Apjjle blossoms pure, 

Were any, ever so sweet? 
A cluster apiece of blossoms fair, 

Nannie and Baby to greet! 



71 

My LaFrance Rose. 
Bring the LaFranee, for my Gussie dear, 

PiD it, amid her waves of soft hair! 
Her own cheek's roses are blooming near! 

LaFrance— just see, to your laurels there 

My Star Jasimines. 

TO MESDAMES NETTIE DOZIER POU AND JENNIE 
DOZIER LITTLE. 

Mothers dear, the brave Spartan dames 

Gave their sons to battle field, 
"On Honors scroll, inscribe your names 

Or, come back, on your shields." 
But you, dear Friends, have given your's, 
Your darling, lovely, early Dead 

To Heaven itself ! Sorrow o'erpowers 

And clouds your lives, now dark o'erspread 

But weep not, for in future years, 

When Time, your grief shall soften, 
Mayhap, these mournful, tender tears, 

May turn to Pearls— and, 'though ye often 
And always, dears, must miss your Dead, 

Yet, in the silent hush of night, 
A strange sweet benediction, softly said 

By Angels, shall pour down its light 
Into your mourning hearts. Did you not give 

Them, e'er yet, to thein, griefs were unknown. 
Or sin? In Life's bright mo7^n, they live 

In Heaven. In beauty have their young lives flown 
Not to the silent tomb, forgetfulness or dreams, 

Or any vain regrets, but, to our Savio?^'s breast, 
Where Light of Love immortal, fadeless gleams. 

In the Home of sweet eternal Best! 
Take, dears, these blossoms, purely sweet, and fair. 
The quaint Star Jasmines, nestling tenderly; 

Plant it around their graves— just "over there^^ 

And let them bloom, in love, for aye! 



72 

My Pansies. 
Fair Becca Hamburger, quaint, petite. 
And wee Baby Flom^noy, cunning and sweet! 
My Pansies they are, expressive of love. 
Fair as the skies, in the blue Heavens above ! 

Come back, dear Becca, to our Wildwood Drive; 
Baby, out he7^e, will much better thrive! 
Come! build your own home, near fair ''Hill Grest,^^ 
Where, in summers, you and Baby can rest! 

My American Beauty Rose. 
Dark and rich, in her regal splendor, 
Lustrous eyes, and beautiful face. 
Sweet Alma Williams, so much admired, 
Her lovely type, I readily trace — 
So beautiful! glowing with light and warmth 
In the dark American Beauty Rose, 
As it proudly lifts its graceful stem, 
Its petals grand, to disclose! 
* , * 

My White Roman Hyacinths. 
How sweetly pure, these blossoms white. 
Blooming around, when all is drear! 
Take them, Pauline, to where the ground 
Keeps of your heart, what is most dear! 
For her, the youthful daughter fair, 
Just in the blush of maidenhood — 
Why did Death, lay his sycle there? 
Ah, who can shew us any good? 
Dear Friend, with heart and soul bowed down. 
We cannot tell! We only know 
'Tis not a loving Father's frown — 
' Tis not in wrath, this fatal blow; 
We know, dear Pauline, that for her, 
Your own sweet Laura idolized. 
And to your heart, far lovelier 
Than aught on Earth — more dearly prized! 



78 



Life's sun rose cloudless, faded while 
Yet the glow, its beauty fair retained. 
Knowing not, or grief, or any guile. 
Her blissful Home eternal, gained! 



TO MISS MARY HANSERD. 

How much we all miss you. Dearie, 

So gentle, beautiful; 
So dear thy presence is, to me 

Never stale or dull. 
Exquisitely refined, I love 

Companionship to share 
With thee; and Music's gift is thine — 

A girl divinely rare! 
Mary, thy soft and liquid name 

Falls sweetl}^ on my ear. 
When e'er I hear it, do I wish 

To keep thee always hei^e — 
Columbus ill can spare thee, pet — 

Thy beauty, or thy grace 
In Memr'y's mirror, bright and clear, 

I often see thy face ! 



THREE BEAUTIFUL BRIDES. 

to mesdames 
Mary Fontaine Pou, Willie Redd Crowell. 

Rebecca Flournoy Hamburc^er. 
The first, was a vision of beauty 

A blonde, a vision fair 
Indeed — With bridal veil, all flowing, 

And silken gown, so rare, 
Of spotless white, the dreamj^ vision 

Her blue eyes, pearly skin, 
Her light blonde hair, her sweeping train — 

Ah! was she not akin 
To Angels? Then came the sweet Brunette 
The second Bride so fair, 

(3b) 



74 

With eyes all luminous, like stars, 

And dark, rich, glossy hair! 
And snowy veil, and silken robe, 

A train superbly grand. 
All gracefully she glided, holding 

In her trembling, dainty hand 
Bride's Roses, like the first fair Bride 

I told you of just now; 
Fair Orange clusters clasped the veil 

Upon her fair young brow! 
And then the third in beauty came 

Nor blonde, nor yet brunette — 
Eyes changeful blue to grey, and hair 

Not very light, nor yet 
Was it, dark as the second Bride's, 

Tresses of light brown hue. 
Her low sweet, thoughtful brow adorned 

Beneath the veil, seen through 
Enveloped in a flowing cloud 

Of gossamer, it seemed 
Falling all o'er the silken gown. 

Fairer than I had dreamed, 
Holding the lovely Bride's bouquet 

Of roses spotless white. 
Where trailing tendrils touched the floor 

Almost, and yet, not quite. 
All beautiful they all three looked, 

How could I e'er decide 
Which of the three most beautiful, 

Or which, the loveliest Binde? 
All happy be, their pathways; blest 

In all, hearts could desire! 
Pure and eternal, brightly burn 

Their altar's purest fire! 



TO MRS. MATTIE FLOURNOY ADAMS. 

Dear gentle friend of mine, 
A strange sweet spell of thine. 
My heart 



75 

Enthralls, and knits to thee ! 
When e'er thy face I see, 

A dart 
Of tenderest yearning, Dear, 
Pervades my soul, so near! 

For thou 
Remind'st me of another — 
My darling, j^f^^cioas Mother! 

Thy brow, 
Thine eyes, and gentle mien, 
Bring to my heart a sheen 

Of deep. 
Sweet, tenderest memories — 
Embalmed with love, and sighs, 

I keep 
In my soul's whitest cell! 
I thank thee, for this spell. 

Dear friend! 
For this, I love thee well, 
How fondly, none can tell! 

And blend 
Thine image in my heart 
As, of herself, almost a part ! 

And, then, 
Your oion sweet self charms me ! 
Your loving spirit warms me 

I ken! 
Sweet! Gentle! Tender! True! 
I send this leaf to you. 

And say : 
While life, for us remains. 
All sweetness, it contains, 

I pray 
May on your head descend! 
If sorrow, with it blend, 

May you, 
Dear, always truly find 
A heart as soft, as kind, 

And true. 



76 

As in my sorrow, Dear, 
You've always been! Whene'er 

In dreams 
I call dear ones to mind, 
Your image, love, I'll find 

With gleams 
Of loving tenderness! 
With gentle heart's caress ! 

I'd fling 
Bright roses 'long thy way! 
And to thy memory, for aye, 

I cling! 



TO MESDAMES MITTIE CHAPMAN MOTT AND MARY LOU 
MOTT WOODRUFF. 

How saucy, dear Mittie, you surely have grown, 
About those precious Grand children of your's! 
(Now, donH quote the adage of "Glass houses and stones") 
But keep all such warnings right in your own doors! 
But those children are handsome — magnificent — Dear! 
And, when Mary Lou takes them out together, there 
Are none more beautiful, none that outshine. 
Except — (now, Mittie, don't box me!) except only mine! 
Your two handsome boys, surely look like wee Pinnces, 
And all the demeanor of each one evinces 
That careful home training already is their's — 
For that changeless sign, e'en childhood wears. 
If Mary Lou's manners upon them descend, 
And Grandmama^s virtues, also, sweetly blend — 
Why, then, Mittie dear — they'll almost compare 
With my three little cherubs, so brilliant and fair! 
May your dear boys grow up to comfort and cheer — 
Growing better, and sweeter, and brighter, each year! 
Adhere to your counsels, so timely and sage, 
And solace your lives, ''even down to old age!^^ 



77 

TO MRS. LEVISA CATCHTNGS CHAMBERLAIN, OF ATLANTA. 

Two little children, in Life's rosy May! 

Over the gardens and hillside at play! 

Gathering roses, and apples, and — joy! 

Life is a dream, without any alloy, 

Levisa, and I, in those yem^s long ago! 

Was ev^er a spring as pure as the flow 

Of that village resort? was ever a glow 

Like those skies overhead? or a rill 

At foot of the steep violet decked hill? 

Like those, our childhood knew so well? 

How we romped, and gamboled, none can tell — 

Were ever such May-day festivals? 

Were ever such merry shouts and calls 

In the old play-ground 'round the old walls 

Of that village school house? Did ever halls 

Resound with such happy laughter, and fun, 

Those glorious, merry May days, upon? 

Were ever two children as happy as we! 

Dressed all in white, the Queen's Rosebuds to be! 

Our dresses, and tresses, like dreams to see 

With beautiful rosebuds, and green, entwined! 

When, our young hearts had n'er divined 

Aught of life, save joy! And how^ we scattered 

Bright flowers for our Queen! If they shattered, 

In falling, their roseate leaves, did we read 

Any prophecy silent, of coming years? Did we heed 

Any warning? Not we! Angels on high 

Were better — not happier — than you and I! 

If those years went quick, and tJiese years come fast, 

And parted your life and mine, wide, at last — 

If, after long years, when I met thee again — 

After much grief, disappointment, and pain, 

If, when you, Dear, led me, hand in hand. 

To the portrait of her, now gone to the land 

Of the fadeless years, your own little girl — 

Now safe from the risks of life's busy whirl — 

And, softly told me : "I gave her your name; 

For, never in life did another claim, 



78 

Dear Friend, the love for you I possess!" 
Such love, and devotion, I had not guessed! 
And I felt, as I looked on that young lovely face 
Of the little one there, not a shadow, or trace, 
Or suggestion of aught, but pure happiness — 
If, for some moments, we could not suppress 
Some silent tears — as the flood of years 
Came back, in the freshness it always wears 
To my tender heart — still, I could not regret. 
While gazing there, on your heart's early pet, 
Your child's early death. Had she not lived, 
And blossomed, and died — had she not thrived 
On all that was beautiful, precious, and blest, 
'Ere sin, or sorrow — disappointment, had guessed 
In your beautiful home, where she blossomed, and died? 
Where you mourned, dear heart, the cofiin, beside. 
Her spirit still lingers to lead, and to bless 
With an Angel's tender, pleading caress! 
She hath missed all of sorrow she might have known! 
How sweetly, for her, hath life's sun gone down! 
But my namesake lives, in joy, " Over there!" 
She hath crossed the River, to regions, where 
Life's May days never end! Where evey- grows 
,In freshness many a blushing Ma3^-day Rose, 
Ere yet one single shadow dimmed the light 
Of her fair life — fresh with the glow, and bright 
With all that love and fondness could bestow. 
She passed from Earth to Heaven's eternal glow! 



IN MEMORIAM. ' 

IN LOVING MEMORY OF MY DARLING MOTHER, MRS. L. A. 
DE LAUNAY, WHO ENTERED INTO HEAVENLY REST 

OCTOBER 20tii, 1892. 

" Ah ! for the touch of a vanished hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still!" 

What mystic sadness tints the air. 

And flower-decked plains and meadows fair 

Amid the perfumed roses rare 

Of this clear, bright October ? 



79 



Whence comes such plaintive song- of bird, 

So late with notes of gladness stirred? 

It seems but yesterday I heard 

All joyous, gladsome greetings. 

Something from out my life has gone; 

Ah! desolation dark and lone, 

Have all thine echoes floated down 

Into the vast Forever? 

Mother! thy child's heart grieves for thee! 

Far, far into Eternity 

Fain would I stretch mine eyes to see 

Thy form all glorified! 

Dark o'er me waves of sorrow roll; 

Sharp thorns pierce hard mine inmost soul. 

Is there no haven of promised goal? 

No anchor past these billows? 

The desolation sweeping o'er 

My life, distresses thee no more! 

Beyond the vistas of the unseen shore 

My Angel beckons me! 

Ah! may I come, with heart and soul refined 

And purified! Not kenned by worldly mind 

Is sorrow's mission — only defined 

By Faith, and Love, and Hope! 

Wet with affection's holiest tears 

The love of all my life long years, 

Whose every thought of thee endears 

A spotless memory. 

Upon thy grave this wreath I place, 

As with a tender, gentle grace 

Sweet memories cluster round and trace 

Thy life's untarnished record! 

So true and gentle, pure and good, 

Fair type of loveliest womanhood, 

I would not. Darling, if I could, 

Bear to thee my heart's burden! 

Fain would I rather pray that thou 

My guardian angel may'st be now. 

A heavenly halo round thy brow 



80 



And in thy hands palm branches. 

Watch o'er me, love, and guide me, for not long 

Will be the time ere I shall join in song 

With thee amid that Angel throng — ' 

The song of God's immortal! 

Lead thou me on, still upward, nearer, 

Linked with thy spirit — dearer 

E'en than when on earth — wearer 

Not of cross, but crown! 

Saviour of mercy, love and might, 

Lead me all safely through life's darksome night. 

All tenderly and gently into light 

Ineffable beyond! 

Beyond time's swiftly changeful years, 

Beyond all shadows, griefs and tears, 

Into the peaceful calm of those bright spheres. 

Illumined by thy presence! 



MY ROSE. 

In my garden of roses rare. 
Amid ten thousand blossoms fair. 
Perfuming all the soft May air 

Exquisitely, 
At early sunrise or evening's close, 
Its own pure incense sweet, bestows 
On all around — so lovely grows 

My own rose-tree ! 
By hallowed dreams of Long Ago — 
By all the years that ebb and flow — 
By all the memories / love so, 

I claim it mine! 
Beneath my Mother'^ window-seat — 
(Oh, years so fair! dear years so fleet! 
Of fragrance cherished, holy, sweet 

Of loves divine!) 
A sweet, old-fashioned, rose-tree grew. 
Whose blossoms laden with the dew 



81 



Of crimson morn, I kiased, and knew 

That rose as mine! 
A prattling child of four years old 
I watched the petals pink unfold 
Amid >^uch dews, impearled with g'old 

Of bright sunshine ! 
This very month, the month of May, 
(Oh, Heart! it seems but yesterdcuj 
That scene of "May-day," fair and gay) 

Our Royal Queen, 
Appointed me her "Rosebud" fair 
Amid that band so debonair e, 
With flower-decked dress and flowing hair 

Of sunny sheen! 
We strewed the flowers her path along. 
And gay with many a merry song 
That scene sought to prolong, 

Oh, happy band! 
Clusters of rosebuds graced my dress, 
And shone amid each shining tress, 
Placed there with many a fond caress, 

By her dear hand! 
And then, again, (I mind it well — 
For me it holds a mystic spell 
Too deep for pen or words to tell) 

My Father strained 
Me to his heart and bade me cull 
My little apron over full — 
And while 1 reached my hands to pull, 

His kisses rained 
All thick and fast upon my head 
And face. Ah! love divinely fed 
By depths unsounded, and unsaid, 

For tenderness I 
Years afterward, when Sorrow's night 
Enveloped my whole life — E'en sight 
And sound, grew awful in their might, 

My soul t' oppress. 
When Childhood lost in Woman's years, 

(4) 



82 



1 knelt — each hope that Childhood weaves 
Dispelled! I knelt in silent tears 

Of bitterness 
Beside the rose-tree of my Childhood's life, 
Still with its buds and blossoms rife, 
Unmindful of these storms and strire, 

Whose hard impress 
Crushed all my life with black despair — 
God grant that some Repentance there 
Dwelt in that agony of prayer 

And duty stern! 
Bathing the rose-tree with my tears 
Mocked by " The Music of the spheres " 
'Mid all the glory that the moonlight wears 

Yainly to yearn 
For all that ne'er could come again! 
The echo of the years' refrain 
Replied to all my prayer and pain 

My heart to burn I * * * 
Oh! sweet, old-fashioned, quaint rose-tree I 
Bloom on, and on, for aye, for me! 
'Till Life's swift river meet the sea, 

Whose surges turn 
To all Eternity! 'til Rest, 
And Peace, shall crown as last behest 
With Requium for the peaceful breast 

Of Victory won! * * * 
I, sometimes, in my dreamings, wonder 
If, in that fair clime ''Over Yonder, ^^ 
Where loving ties are never rent asunder, 

When life is done — 
And Time, and faded roses here 
Give place to Flowers fair, "Up there" — 
Whose leaves have never felt a tear — 

If there grows 
In Heaven a Flower more sweet than this, 
Of Woman's tears and Childhood's bliss I 
Sealed be its mem'ries with hallowed kiss, 

My Mother's Rose! 



83 
ESQUILINE. 

TO MESDAMES BELLE MOSES LEVY, AND 
NINA MOSES ROBINSON. 

Fair Esquiline! On golden wings, 
With song as sweet as bird e'er sings, 

My spirit takes 
Beyond the weird horizon's line, 
To cherished hill of Esquiline, 

Its groves and lakes! 
Ah! fitly named ''The Poet's Hill,'' 
With forests, cav^erns, rocks and rill — 

And ancient Rome 
Ne'er knew, nor joy, nor revelry, 
Nor lovelier scenery might you see 

From lofty dome 
In far historic Italy, 
Than broad expanse, boundless and free, 

Ungirt by line 
Of man's intrusion, glen and glade 
Glintings of sunshine, forest, shade. 

Of Esquiline! 
Ah! Esquiline! quaint Esquiline! 
Is it so long since once were mine 

Those years, all crowned 
With all that youth and beauty give? 
Those years, when joy meant but to live! 

When all around, 
Of sky, and air, and waterfall, 
And singing bird, their gladsome all 

Seemed to bestow! 
And life, a dream, was fair and bright, 
Gilded with fairy, shimmering light 

Of crimson glow! 
Those "moonlight picnics" where, so oft 
Beneath the radiance clear and soft 

Of Luna's light, 
As bands played on the evening air. 
Bright forms of women, beauteous, fair, 

Each with her knight 



84 



Of Southern chivalry, while 
Every hill and gladsome rill 

Of Esquiline 
Resounded with the ring of dance 
And music! Scene of wild romance 

Is thine! 
Gone are those knights of Southrons bold, 
And, with them, the romance of old; 

For cruel war, 
With clarion call, their duty claimed; 
And, though unwritten, or not famed 

In annals far, 
Each name may not recorded be, 
Nor shafts of immortality 

Their columns rear. 
Deep down where valor owns her part. 
Embalmed within a nation's heart 

With woman's tear, 
Each Southern soldier lives forever. 
Forgotten, or neglected, never! 

Without a peer, 
Their hallowed memories we enshrine. 
And nurse them with a love divine. 

Tender and dear. 
Dear Albert Luria! Brother! Friend! 
How many blessed memories blend! 

And if some tears 
Shall on this page so softly fall, 
So like bright pearls they gleam (for all 

Those happy years), 
I could not brush the tears away. 
But silently would bid them stay. 

Nor feel the page 
Were sullied as they lay thereon! 
I pause to think how very soon 

Is passed the age! 
In this strange world, how brief 
Its changeful course! The golden sheaf 

Seems culled almost 



85 



Before the blade of springtime green 
Is quite unfolded. Sorrow keen 

For those we lost 
In those eventful, mournful years 
Of cruel war; and silent tears 

We sadly shed 
For those so early lost, so dearly loved! 
Come once again, nor all unmoved 

We hear the trea,d 
Of bygone mem'ries; in the hush 
Of those dim corridors, the flush 

Of bouyant youth 
And early manhood's chivalry, 
The eager, flashing, daring eye, 

Inspired by truth 
Of honor's cause, of knighthood brave, 
Of patriotism, whose grand wave 

Swept o'er our land. 
Our loyal, brave, chivalric South! 
And, plighting to her cause their troth, 

Gave their right hand 
In token of their pledge, and said: 
"Be this my lordly accotade,^^ 

"Upon this shield 
Let me return with victory, 
Or else, defending Right, I'll die 

Upon the field!" 
Dear Allie, that was thirty years ago, 
(How swiftly does Time's current flow 

With change replete), 
When, on this fair midsummer's day, 
I walked amid the flowers so gay, 

And bright, and fair, and sweet, 
And strolled adown the steep hillside 
To valley low, where violets hide 

And tangled fern; 
Still on, to where a lonely spot 
Tells lovingly thou'rt not forgot; 

In memory's urn 



86 



Thy loved and hallowed dust is sleeping! 
And, Ihou above, thy meed art reaping — 

The soldie7^^s crown! 
Upon the slab the red sun shines, 
And gilds the mournful tear-kissed lines 

Of thy renown! 
At ''Seven Fines, ^^ while gallantly 
Defending Home and Liherti/! 

That cannon ball 
Thy grave so near, with eloquence 
Tells of the charge, the brave defence. 

Far more than all 
The poetry of pen, or tears; 
And, sounding down through countless years. 

Infinitely, 
The echo of thy deeds rolls on. 
Long after we, its meaning con 

All silently! 
Another form by Alliens side is seen. 
Twin Brother H, save in blood, I ween, 

3Iii own, and only Brother! 
Dear, darling Harry! Brother mine, 
I draw the veil; the light would shine 

Too rudely! Other 
Mem'ries come, which I must bid 
Depart; and I must close the lid 

Of casket rare! 
How well do I remember when 

Ye twain bade me adieu; and then, 

(Oh, Saviour spare 
Me the penning of the tidings drear), 
The death-knell fell too sadly on mine ear 

And aching heart! 
The one at "Seven Pines^^ (dear Allie) slain; 
The other, precious Hai^ry, 'ere a stain 

Of sin had part, 
Or grief had entered in his life — 
On manhood's threshold, 'ere the strife 

Had scarce begun — : 



87 



While full of promise, glory, hope, 
The cycle of his horoscope 

Its span had run! 
Both gave the freshness of their glorious youth; 
Eight, Honor, Chivalry and Truth, 

Inscribed upon 
(With all the love a Southern nation gives, 
And tenderness in woman's tears, that lives) 

Their grand esciitcheonl 
Dear Esquiline! fair Esquiline! 
Thy caverns lone, or scenes divine 

From hilltop fair. 
Empurpled, clustered vineyards vast. 
Forests so grand, and flowers! thou hast 

A spell so rare 
And potent on my woman's soul, 
That all the years which swiftly roll 

Can never take 
One tiny leaflet from the page 
Of memory! Approaching age 

One tendril shake 
From the fair garland, close enshrined, 
Deep in my heart, and soul, and mind! 

To her who sways 
Such gentle, lovely, magic power — 
Its present mistress — whose rich dower 

Of gracious ways 
And influence seem to shed 
A sweet aroma — all unsaid 

Or told by pen — 
I dedicate this simple lay. 
Mellowed by memory's soft array! 

And often when 
In thought the golden days of yore — 
("Alas! the days that are no more,") 

None brighter shine 
Than those with crimson glory blent — 
Those hours so gladsome, that I spent 

At Esquiline! 



MY BLONDE AND BRUNETTE. 

TO MISSES MAY AND CLIFFORD LAYFIELD 

(My Little God-Children.) 

Two little girls, my pretty dears! 

Rosebuds, in childhood's happy years! 

One with her eyes of brightest blue, 

Where light shines from her soul on you; 

With golden locks of sunny hair, 

And cheeks all rosy, fresh and fair! 

One with eyes like stars at night, 

Sparkling and giving rays of light; 

Long lashes fringed and black as jet, 

And curly hair of rich brunette; 

And both can sing like golden bells 

That steal so softly through the dells. 

Both are lovely, rich in store 

Of loving heart and mental lore, 

And very dear are both to me. 

Giving my life sweet joy to see; 

My lovely blonde and dark brunette. 

Each is my darling, each my pet! 

My own God-children — beautiful. 

Hel]) me, dear Christ, to help them cull 

The truest sweets of this rich earth. 

To seek life's real, lasting worth; 

To early turn their thoughts to Thee, 

A life of love and purity! 

A solace each to father, mother, 

A comfort always to each other! 

The Christian's life on earth to share. 

The Christian's /acZeZe.ss ivreath to wear! 

Grant that we all may meet in Heaven 

These children sweet, that Thou hast given. 



TO MISS LUCY BLANDFORD. 

'Tis not alone, dear Lucy, 
Thy cultured, classic mind — 
'Tis not alone the heritage 



89 



Of intellect I find 
So charming in thee, dear, 
Bat thy unselfishness, 
Mingled with gentle deeds 
And daily cheerfulness. 
Home's special magnet, thou, 
With countless ministrations 
For those within that home. 
Receiving thy heart's libations! 
Tributes of love are all thy care — 
Father, Auntie and Brother! 
For them, in all this world. 
Like thee, there is no other! 
Give me the girl, domestic, kind. 
Her icorth is gold, I ken, 
Her duplicate is hard to find, 
She^s the true heroine! 



TO MISS SALLIE CLEGHORN. 
(On receiving a beautiful pearl-handle pen, brought from the Exposition.) 

How dainty is thy gift, dear friend; 

How sweet the generous thought 
That prompted you this gift to send, 

In chastest beauty wrought. 
I thank thee, dear, a thousand times, 

Because you thought of me 
When absent. Paltry seems my rhymes, 

In lieu of this to thee. 
Yet Sallie, dear, my heart has learned 

In life's vast wilderness, 
(As often for affection yearned, 

Sometimes a dear caress 
Has found,) to value every tender token 

Of friendship here below — 
A hand's warm pressure, kind words spoken. 

Whatever friends bestow! 
I write this tribute with the pen 

Inspired by thee, the power, 



90 



And beg you, dear, that sometimes when 

In solitary hour 
You sit, and idly muse upon 

The friends who love you well, 
Your glance may chance to fall upon 

My rhyme's kind, friendly spell. 
You'll give one loving thought to her 

Who, when her memory strays 
To those she loves to oft refer. 

Beneath remembrance's rays, 
May my name sweetly there return 

And gild the page with love! 
No matter, friend, if cold the urn, 

Or if afar I rove, 
Still think of me, all kindly friend, 

As one who, all through life. 
Sweet, loving thoughts of thee did blend 

With kindest mem'ries rife! 
And when our struggling days shall end. 

The life-long battle cease. 
All peaceful be its close, sweet friend — 

Exultant our release! 
This pearly pen-staff 'minds me, friend, 

Of thine own pure, white soul; 
An inspiration seems to blend. 

And o'er these pages roll; 
An inspiration given by thee. 

My pure and white-souled friend; 
So may it rest in love on me, 

My thoughts with it to blend! 



TO MRS. MARY BROWNE SLADE. 

If I sought for a perfect womanhood 
As mother, to "warn, command," 

As wife, all lovely, pure and good, 

Where, tell me, in all this Southern land. 

Would I seek for better than thee? 

As daughter, all sweetest obedience, love! 



91 

What more in womanhood's scale can be 

To fit thee, dear, for the angels above? 
I love to hear thy soft, rippling voice; 

What sunshine in thy laughter! 
It seems to say, "Oh, heart, rejoice!" 

In the years that may come after. 
And the Autumn's purple, dappled, brown, 

Gleam where youth's splendor reigneth now. 
And the Springtime mellows down 

Into life's ''ajtermath,^'' thy brow 
Mayhap wear tresses tinged with grey 

Where now the soft, dark locks entwine, 
May all life's cares be lightly laughed away, 

Love's friendship coronal be sweetly thine! 



TO MRS. CORNELIA BACON OSBORNE. 

Where shall I find a fitting flower 
For the regal woman we claim our own? 
Wielding her grand, majestic power 
With gentle mien and mellow tone; 
Queen of Columbus' Society, 
Leading her votaries at her sway. 
Her beauty, her quiet dignity 
Win admiration, respect always. 
How much Society to her owes, 
This queenly woman, so fair and gay; 
Suggesting, planning, accompanying those 
Who love to bow to her potent spell. 
Where in our Southland shall I seek, 
O'er flowery meadow, garden and dell, 
To find a flower her praise to speak? 
I'll claim of the forest its queen. 
Stately mistress of Southern flowers; 
Oh, grand Magnolia! thou, I ween, 
Art the flower I seek, in gladsome bowers 
Of beaut}^ wild. Thy regal bloom 
Shall be her type! Lofty and sweet. 
Dispersing every shadow of gloom, 
I hail thee as emblem meet! 



92 



TO MISSES CLARK. 

A bunch of roses, all pink and white, 

Merry as the day; 
Cheerful hearts and laughter light, 

Blushes fresh as May. 
Lillian, Mamie, Lucy, Annie! fair throng! 

Like butterflies so gay. 
Making music all day long; 

What a bright array! 
Home's sweet tasks no irksome duty. 

No dull care — not they! 
Making their life a scene of beauty. 

Laughter and talk so gay. 
I challenge the world to find a set 

Of sisters more au fait 
In home's own true accomplishments, 

What more can I say? 



TO MISS MAY WELLS. 

Lovely, gentle, fair and sweet. 

Like breath of Summer Roses, 
All the incense, there complete. 

This charming girl discloses! 
Give me, her face, for model true 

To paint an Angel pure. 
For lasting worth, there are but few. 

Whose charms like her's endure ! 



TO MISSES MABEL PHELPS AND GERTRUDE PHELPS. 

I never see ye, my darlings. 

But your sainted mother's face 
Comes to me, in its beauty — 

As I, your features trace — 
And, it gives my heart such pleasure 

To see in your loveliness 
The Mother^s "mantle," resting there; 

Her gift, to charm, and bless 1 



93 



Be like he7\ in your lives, dear girls, 

In piety and love, 
And she will sweetly echo in 

Her glorious Home above, 
All of your aspirations, dears — 

Your lofty purposes 
And efforts. Seek her virtues rare, 

And sweetness to possess ! 



WILDWOOD. 

TO MRS. ANNIE LEONARD GARRARD. 

Shall I paint this lovely, precious friend 

As you see her now, fair and blest? 
Her cheeks the rose and lily blend — 
In her dark eyes no looi^Ws unrest 

Doth coldly lurk — but lustrous, tender, sweet, 
Their living warmth, and life, and light, complete! 
I'll paint her first, as first I saw — 

A little girl, with plaited hair 
Of such a wealth, that one might draw 
Those braids so dark and wondrous rare 

All round, and round again that shapely head — 
Those braids that seemed by radiant sunlight fed! 
Stood the old school house, from the road 

Away, embedded in tall trees 
Of oak, and hickory — dense wood. 

Thick copse, and vines — one seldom sees 

A grander grove than where once proudly stood 
The Wynnton girls' school house, in tangled wood. 
Not, as a pupil, then did come 

This pretty child— but, just (at least 
So it did seem to me), for some 

Of us 'big girls" to have a kissing feast — 
We fondled, calling her by many a name 
Endearing — and yet, they all just meant the same, 
Sweet, Annie Leonard! Little pet 

And darling! Years all swiftly rolled 



94 



Along. Nor can I e'er forget 

IIow soon this bud did seem t' unfold 

Its pure, fresh loveliness, at fair Wildwood, 
Fit name for Homestead, as it quaintly stood 
Environed by those rims of hills 

And forest grand — with many a spring 
Of water, pure, where murmuring rills 
Gave as their tuneful offering 

Soft serenades in Summertime — at hush of night 
And, nature clothed the scene with pure delight! 
Again, I paint sweet Annie, dear. 

So well remembered — when scarce seventeen 
Brief Summers, with their clear, 
Sweet halo, cast their shining sheen 

Around her life, and crowned her — lovely, fair. 
With dark, magnetic eyes — luxuriance of hair 
To match, like canopy of night 

In sky, a back-ground for the stars! 
A thing of joy, sunshine, delight! 
Softly, Remembrance now unbars 

Her portals, and I see her Mother — -just 
As I knew her when she won my love — and trust, 
With all her goodness, sweetness, truth! 

Sweet Annie was her idol, and 
The, Belle of many a swain, in youth — 
The loveliest girl in all the land ! 

And 'ere the silvery moon had rose and waned 
Scarce a few years — her hand and heart were gained 
By one of Nature's noblemen — 

And as I saw them plight their vow. 
She gowned in silk — as standing then 
With veil, and on her lovely brow 

An Orange wreath. I felt, she d given a love 
Unrivaled by the Angels fair above 
In its own purity. Sweet Flower 

Of Wildwood! years passed on, in jo}^, 
(How fast they go ! seeming but hours 
When grief withholds its dark alloy) — 

A precious bud was given to the youthful pair, 



95 

Sweet Baby Willie ! with his mother's eyes and hair, 
And, for a few short years, this Flower 

Was nursed and cherished in that happy Home — 
Of all the boons within Love's power. 
Recipient he — then, followed some 

Dark, dreary years to me — an exile lone. 
Not once unconscious — still in touch and tone 
With memory. I often thought 

Of that loved group at Wildwood fair, 
And, Fancy, in my visions, sought 
To picture how events were there 

Transpiring. After years of grief, and yearning. 
Once more, to dear familiar scenes returning — 
I wandered to the grave yard still. 

And traced upon the marble cold, 
That it had pleased our Father's will 
To take sweet Willie to His fold — 

And, then, as years passed on — sweet Van-de- Van 
Was given, to bud, and blossom for a span 
In Wildwood Home — then, she too, died, 

'Ere scarce three springtime suns had rose 
And set — so, sadly, there, beside 

Dear Willie, where the Laurel grows, 

We laid, all tenderly, sweet Van-de-Yan — 
'Ere scarce begun, her life's brief journey ran. 
A few more years — a festive scene ! 

The "Silver Wedding" of the pair! 
Can twenty-five years, intervene, 
^maQ first I saw them standing where 

Again they stand, same room, and self-same spot, 
Mid scenes far more resplendent, and yet, not 
More quaintly beautiful to me 

Than in those years of Long Ago I 
Friends greet them 1 Sweet to see 

The Bride, not now, in gown of snow. 
But lovely yet, as then! now, a silken gown 
Of silver grey, shimmering with lace. Adown 
Those years, her skiff has lightly sailed 
Over smooth waters — pilot, safe, and true I 



96 

She stands this eve, in fleecy laces veiled, 
Lovely a woman, as e'er you knew ! 

Wife, Mother, Friend, regally prond, in right 
Of her liege Lord, her children sweet and bright I 
Just twenty-five years gone, since they — 

Her noble Lord, and she, did plight 
Their loving troth. (I heard them say 
On one occasion, that so bright 

And happy had these sweet years been 
They would be glad to live them o'er again,) 
And this, of their fond, faithful hearts 
True sentiment, more beauty gives 
More splendor to the scene imparts. 
And gladness to their happy lives 

Than all the luxuries within those halls 
Of Wild wood, or artists' frescoed walls; 
And brighter than the diamonds there. 

Gleaming at swan-like throat or breast. 
Flashing in her dark, glossy hair. 
Are her bright eyes, so full of rest, 

Not from the diamonds borrow their light divine — 
With her own heart's pure joy they glow and shinel 
Loved Annie! Queen of Wildwood fair! 
Wildwood! nestled in glen and glade; 
Rare flowers lend to its charms their share. 
And wtfter-oaks their superb shade 

Contribute to that lawn so magnifique — 
Of her liege lord's haut gout they proudly speak! 
For that broad circle by his hand 
Designed was, and sylvan lake 
And winding walks so deftly planned. 
Sweet, lovely Wildwood! it would take 
Too long to number o'er thy beauties wild 
Of rock, and fern, and streamlets, I have whiled 
Away so many happy hours 

Amid. Within this rim of hills 
Are gardens full of loveliest flowers, 
And founts, and softly gurgling rills; 

Fish-pond with perch, and trout, and precious brim. 



97 

That bravely venture near the circling rim. 
All unconveyed to others here, 

Sweet friend, the scenes drawn by my rhyme. 
This portrait very faint, I fear. 

Like all things else that are sublime — 
The heart's affection, best interpreter 
And reader is — and so I give to her 
To whom this rhyme is sweetly sent 

My heart's unspoken, true allegiance. 
If she accept, then I'm content 
That it should lack all radiance, 

Save that which it may sweetly, aptly gain, 
When her dark eyes shall read this simple strain; 
And on the memory of the past 

A thought, a smile, a tear bestow 
In fondest love! Shall, at last, 
My heart this satisfaction know, 

My Muse will feel nor pain, nor e'en regret. 
If sometime mine own eyes with tears are wet! 
Sweet Wildwood Home! A brief adieu! 

Long be thy vales, and glens, and glades 
With verdure daily robed anew; 

And when life's closing twilight shades 

Sink softly, sweetly down those golden rims 
Of hills, as erst awhile earth's glory dims. 
Be thine the peaceful, hallowed rest 

Of Angels, wrapped in soft repose 
With those, so beautiful and blest, 

Gone hence! So may thy "harvest" close, 
Listening to lullabies as sweet, divine 
As mothers croon to babes! Sweet Annie, mine. 
May every deed of kindness, love. 

And every sympathizing tear, 
Be luaiting thee as ijearls above; 
Or, as God's "ministering angels" here. 

Hovering around thy blest, sweet, peaceful bed, 
Crowning with immortelles of joy thy head! 



(4c) 



98 



TO MRS. EMILY MEIGS WOOLFOLK, 

Ideal woman, art thou, dear Emmie, 

My '^eidle weise,^' art thou ! 
'Tis the Alpine Flower, so rare to find 

On the snowy mountain's brow ! 
It blooms, regardless of the sun — 

Its warmth, and rays ignore; 
The colder, harder is the weather 

It blossoms more, and more ! 
So, with the soul pure, and refined, 

When trials hard assail, 
The world's false shew, and emptiness 

Their nothingness, avail. 
Like, my own Alpine "eidle-iveise,^^ 

Disdaining worldly ills 
There, on the snow-capped mountain crest, 

Its perfume rare distils! 
Thy classic beauty, I admire 

Thy genial charms, so many 
Bright repartee, and brilliant wit — 

But more than these — than any, 
Thy lofty independent nature. 

Afraid not, to be true, 
Clothing thy mind, and spirit, with 

Attractions ever new! 



TO MRS. JENNIE HINDE. 

For three years I had your companionship 

Near my Wynnton home, so near, 
And the more I knew you the more I loved. 

As daily, you grew more dear! 
Come back, from your wanderings, Lady, dear — 

New York, San Francisco, grand. 
Come back! for I miss you, dear, every day. 

Come back! to our own sunny land! 
Not all California's beauties, rare. 

Her rich, soft alluring clime — 
Her tropical glories, of water and land — 



99 



Her scenery lovely, sublime, 
Can give you, a heart that misses you, dear, 

As I, in my Wynnton home, 
Loved friend — sj^oilee — you have traveled enough 

Hasten, ma chere, to me, come! 



TO MRS ELLEN CHARLTON HUDSON. 

Dear Lady, I wish for that summer again — 

(The summer at Hilton, you spent) — 
Your bright conversation, and gay sprightliness, 

All the charms you so pleasantly lent 
To my home, and my heart! that sweet summertime ! 

Refreshing, it is, when we meet 
With a person original, true, like yourself — 

Come again, Lady, dear, I entreat ! 
The South's aristocracy still has its " LeaveiV — 

Not quite by the Nouveaux riche yet 
Annulled — always recognized by a look, or a word, 

Its seal is irrevocably set ! 
Time can not alter it, wealth can not purchase it, 

Something that's seen and felt, undefined—- 
One knows it, on meeting, at one single glance — 

Whateve7^, wherever you find! 
Long may thy bright sallies of wit. Lady, dear, 

Still flash from thy mind's brilliant ore — 
Thy thoughts, independence — thy warm, loving heart — 

Thy intellect's rare brilliant store! 



WHEN SUSIE BROUGHT HER BABY IN. 

TO MRS. SUSIE SWIFT WARNER. 

The day was hot, and sultr}^, fair. 
And not a zephyr stirred the air — 
I heard a cheery voice and sweet. 
Call to me, "Madame, pray see what 
I've brought in, for you to look at — 
My Baby dear ! Joan her name !" 
I felt my praises, all too tame. 



100 

As the wee, dimpled thing I took, 

In its soft eyes, a trusful look 

Of Baby innocence! The Fay 

Ethereal, as skies of May ! 

The tiny, pink-faced, blue-eyed love! 

Oh! winsome darling! Pearl above 

All dross of Earth! Sweet Baby Pet! 

I feel its soft, sweet clinging yet 

About my neck, and on nn^ cheek 1 

Vain all the words I fain would speak 

To tell its daintiness. So fair; 

The soft exquisiteness of sweet 

Joan ! a theme for Angels meet! 

All suddenly, upon the air, 

I felt a strange, sweet freshness ! There 

Seemed upon the roses clinging near, 

A new perfume, as, if to wear 

Some snatches of the Baby^s 2nnk, 

Soft cheeks, and fingei^tijys! I think 

That Heaven itself, would lack in charm 

Complete, if there, no Baby warm 

With trustful love, and tenderness. 

Stretched out its rosy hands, to press 

And cling to us. Oh undefiled! 

The glory of a little child! 

Earth seemed to be, to Heaven akin. 

When Susie brought her Baby in ! 



TO MRS. CYNTHIA KENT CHAPrELL. 

A stranger to our town she came, 

A stranger to our homes and hearts, 
Yet scarcely had I heard her name 

Ere the strange charms that sound imparts 
Thrilled through my heart, electrical 

As owning Cynthia's pure, sweet charm; 
I felt she had the power t' enthrall. 

Friendships to win, doubt to disarm. 
Softly our hearts and loves she stole, 



101 

With dignified, magnetic mien; 
All gracefully she fills her role 

In social fetes, or Home's fair Queen. 
'Tis there, J love to see her best, 

Her quaint, sweet presence felt and seen; 
And woman's highest, true behest 

Of crowning glory has, I ween, 
Ne'er rested yet, on one more fit 

Her laurels, fresh and green, to wear; 
Mind, voice and manner sweetly knit, 

And heart-attributes rich and rare. 
Dear Cynthia, may the silver bays 

Of Fortune, shimmering with the light 
Brighter and sweeter e'en than May's 

Fair flowers and sunshioe, bring delight 
On heart, and home, and life of thine; 

Not joys ephemeral of a day. 
But crowning thee with love divine. 

When all things else have passed away; 
Like silver crescent in the sky. 

So beautiful, and chaste, and dear, 
Illumining the vault on high. 

Shedding its radiance far and near! 



BRAVE HEART, AND TRUE. 

TO MRS. CAROLTNE OLIVIA WILLIAMS. 

As through Life's desert, barren, lone 

I wandered, weary, sad — distressed 

With thoughts of wrong and evil done 

On God's fair earth, else bright and blest — 

I met her, dear, when first I knew! 

Oh, friend, beloved! Brave heart, and true! 

Like gleaming star in firmament 

Else dark, she shineth bright and clear; 

Like sunshine after storm, she's sent 

To be a guiding light — to cheer, 

To bear, to solace, and to do! 

Lofty and pure! Brave heart, and true! 



102 



In all the world's immense domain, 

Across the sea's white crested-foam 

So far, so near, seek thou in vain. 

For higher life whe'er you roam — 

But yet, 'tis given only to few, 

Like her's, I sing! Brave heart, and true ! 

In face, and form so beautiful ! 

Only an index to her soul 

Of purest, highest purpose full. 

Only a fitly written scroll! 

Heart struggles, as they sweetly grew 

To life's best mould! Brave heart, and true! 



Return! thou wanderer from afar! 

Come to thy mother's home, again 

Those gates of feeling to unbar! 

Come, far across the sea and main 

Thy loving, filial duty do 

To her! the bravest heart and true! 

A heroine on "Life's battle-field!" 

" The oil of gladness" on her pour — 

Faith, hope and love, her spotless shield 

A victor when the warfare's o'er! 

Meekly she kneels — her crown in view! 

Oh, friend, beloved! Brave heart and true! 



TO MISS JENNTE HART, OF UNION POINT, GA. 

Beautiful her classic face; 

Index of her heart and mind — 
Wealth of goodness, innate grace — 

Where shall I a flower find 
Sweet enough her type to be? 

Grand enough, her likeness fair? 
Perle de jar din, so to me, 

Seems this woman, lovely, rare. 



108 

L'ADIEU. 

Not by thy heaps of gold, of wealth, of gain, 
Banked in thy hidden treasured stores of pelf— 
Nor, by the applause, which, mayhap, bears the stain 
Of purchase, by none of these, weigh thou, thyself— 
But, be thy manhood's noble estimate; 
Thy womanhood^s sole measure, onlij thy loss 
And sacrifice. These bear their precious freight 
In the Eternal Life. All else is fruitless dross— 
Whoever giveth most, hath most to give, 
Who sacrificeth most, hath increased store; 
Only those who live for others, truly live, ' 
All else, but briefly. These forevermore! 
"When the moon is old. 

And the stars are cold. 

And the books of the Judgment-day unfold." 



MY LEGACY, 

To be fulfilled, not, when for me 

No more in life warm heart-throbs beat. 

Not at my grave— for there will be 

My Requium, sung in birds' retreat 

Of strange, sweet loveliness ! Nor, yet 

In marble shaft or costly flowers 

Of stiff design, may-hap unwet 

By one regretful tear." Such dowers 

My true soul scorns. For daisies wild. 

And violets, implanted bv God's hand,' 

All An<jel-tended—\\\idQ^\e^ 

(By touch of empty shew— 'though grand)- 

Will spring up in that lonely spot 

And bloom in sweetness daily, there! 

To me, in life, your sweets allot ! 

Bring to my heart your flowers, fair, 

And love me, while I move among 

You in my daily life! Bring Flowers 



104 

Of sympathy and love ! My song 
Is brief, dear friends — but hours 
Consumed in saying, mean no more. 
Love me in life^ and shew it me 
Forever, and forever more! 
Then, when, for me, life's brevity 
Is done — to such dear ones who fain 
Would gently wreathe my coffin lid 
With flowers. Love gives, I'd not disdain 
Their offering, nor tears, unbid ! 



S3 



<>^% 



f~Q) (d^K~^ 



PROSE, 



Humopoug and B'&herMige, 






(5) 



To NIY READERS. 

Many articles intended to have been comprised within the 
following pages, including a novelette, necessarily had to be 
omitted, being too voluminous for present practical purposes. 
If any reader, among you, be disposed to misconstrue the true 
mission of the pages herein contained, to scorn or deride any 
moral happily evolved — any instruction to be gleaned, or advice 
given — I will cheerfully bear in mind the words of one of Eng- 
land's silver-penned writers, "Good counsel rejected, returns 
to enrich the bosom of the giver." 

It has been deemed best to omit, also, all Essays on scientific 
questions, and topics of the day, until a future occasion. 

If my brochure shall be refused, or happily meet with accept- 
ance in your hearts — whatever its fate, I shall be prepared for 
the issue, remembering always, "A prophet is not without 
reward, save in his own country;" and, being no egotist, will 
never die of "Great Expectations." 

To the many who have so kindly encouraged me by their 
approbation, I return my sincere, loving thanks. I send my 
little brochure forth, straight from my own heart to yours, pray- 
ing God's blessing attend its way, believing with Goethe, to 

"Fret not over what is past and gone, 

But, act, as if thy life were just begun. 

Do thine own task, and therewith be content; 

Then, all besides, leave to the Master Power." 

—P. DE L. 



A MODERN HOUSE-PARTY. 

AS SEEN FROM AUNT KIZZIE'S POINT OF VIEW. 

Sitting" on the verandah, in the beautiful after-glow of 
a lovely Summer afternoon, contemplating the mellow 
crimson and gold of the broad expanse outspread before 
me, unobstructed by city chimneys or glaring walls, 
unmutilated by man's vandalism, lost in hallowed reve- 
ries of the "clolce fa?- niente^^ of the restful surround- 
ings, while birds and butterflies were having a royal 
carnival amid my flowered sweets, I was suddenly 
aroused from my revery by a cheery voice calling to me: 

"Miss Geraldine, good evenin', ma'am. May I 'suit 
you 'bout suppin'"? 

Glancing to the spot whence the familiar voice pro- 
ceeded, I saw the face and form of old Aunt Kizzy — an 
ancient but small, dusky daughter of Ethiopia — as she 
stood there, just outside the front garden railing, leaning 
on it, with a most earnest, questioning expression on her 
wrinkled features. 

"Why certainly, Aunt Kizzy," I replied; "I am at 
your service. "What is it you wish to consult me 
about?" 

"Well, Miss Geraldine, hit's dis, ma'am: I tole you 
'tother day de House-potty had come, an' things looks so 
sterious to me — bein' as dis ole nigger haint nuver seed 
nuffin' 'tall like hit in all her days — an' bein' as Miss 
Sally is dun gone 'way fur de Summer, an' I promised 
her to stay dar en tik kere un her things while she he's 
away, an' wants to keep my promise ef I ken, I'jes' 
come to ax you what I mus' do 'bout it. Dey tells me. 
Miss Geraldine, dat dese here young white gemmans is 
rented de house, an' put dese young white gals dar, an' 
what I wants to ax you is dis (her voice growing more 
earnest), is it ^spectable"? Please 'form me, Miss, is it 
right for me to stay dar wid all dis kavortin' a gwine 



108 

on? Ef it is a onrighteous house, 1 jes' can't stay, kaze 
I'se been a member of de church sence I was a young 
gal, myself, a livin' on ole Marster's plantation, en is 
always bore a good name, en I haint agwine to scandalize 
myself now, in my ole age, mum, I haint (striking her 
right fist into the open palm of her left hand for emphasis.) 
Now tell me, please 'um, is it a o?2righteous house?" 

"Why, no indeed, Aunt Kizzy. Those lovely girls 
are as sweet and pure as the roses blooming near you; 
and I have always advocated that the influence of such 
girls was most refining and elevating to young men. 
There is no harm at all in a House-party." 

"But you see. Miss Geraldine, de preacher tells me 
we mus' 'void de ''loarrence ub evil. He sez he gits it 
fum de Bible. I kan't read myself, en don't want to, fur 
a leetle eddication is done made a plum fool of dat yaller 
boy Jack, my dead sister's son. De preacher sez, too, 
we can't find a bunch of even fox grapes off'en a bramble 
bush, nur ken we git a quince off'en a crab apple tree, or 
somehow so. Now, den, ef dem ar white gals is sweeter 
en a rose, en modester en a violet, as you say, den why 
donH dey 'pear dat way?" 

"Because the young are often frivolous with the best 
intentions. The young men become noisy simply from 
excess of the novel enjoyment of being in the sweet, 
wild country groves, air and scenery; and all unconscious 
to themselves these lovely, beautiful giris may become a 
little hilarious because the young men are." 

"No ma^am, Miss Geraldine, you is got it wrong now — 
you is got it wrong. I sees it all wid my own eyes, en 
hyears it all wid my own years, dat is I could hyear hit 
all ef I could h3^ear anything fur de powerful sight er 
rackit dey keeps up, which I canH always, fur sometimes 
I ^clar, mum, hit sounds like a warhoop uv Injuns — hit 
do, Miss — hit do; en hit is not de boys what sets de 
'zample, but de gals! hit is, shore De ondacity uf dem 
white gals heads all my days, en I's 'bout seventy; but 
dey jes' do mortally dare dem boys — now, dey do — en 
I'm jes' tellin' de plain trufe. De boys jes' can't hep 



109 

dersels, mum. Ef enny body was to say eny thing to 
me 'bout gittin' up a House-potty for my gran'chilluns 
I b'leve I'd — yes— well, I b'leve I'd jes' cripple em— I 
would, mum. En den dem ole white women whut dey 
teleforms to town fur — dat tells de tale! Dat teleform 
kant hardly git 'em out here to de Potty (I sees en 
hyears all dis, Miss Geraldine); en I canH blame 'em, 
fur dey can't do a blessed thins^ wid de Potty folks arter 
dey gits here. I don't see no use ur dey comin', no 
how; what good do dey do'f Not a 'tarnal thing ken dey 
do wid 'em. I tell you, mum, dey kant so much ez hyear 
der years, much less make 'em behave. De ole man, de 
'Fessor, en de Capin, too, seems kinder loss like. Hit 
Spears to be a leetle too much fur 'em bofe — all dis 
kavortin\ Why, 'tother night, arter settin' up all— ur, 
ruther, 'tother mornin^ — fur dey had never once laid 
down — dey kep up dat turrible rackit 'till arter five 
o'clock in de mornin'. Dey tuck sticks en pans en 
knocked and beat on de walls ov dat house 'till de neigh- 
bors thought dere wus a killin' ur a fire a gwine on — sich 
banging en sich yellin', en a marchin' 'round de house. 
I hadn't slep er wink; could'nt even nod, fur de rackit 
Ez for my part, I was a thinkin' uv de Jericho walls 

bein' torn down by blowin' de cows' horns (er de goats^ 

dun forgit which — but don't make no difi'unce whut sort 
er horns dey wus— enny how, de walls come down, dey 
did — so de preacher sez); en. Miss Geraldine, I ^clare 
'fore de Lawd, I thot dat House-potty^ s walls wuz a 
comin' down. I was skeered, en wondered ef Judgment 
day had suddenly come, en run fum de kitchen to de 
door, a looking fur de fire en brimstone to fall fum de 
skies. Sez I, 'Jack, you yaller rascal, whar's Miss 
Shappyrune nowV fur Jack had told me de name uf de 
ole white 'oman whut wus a stayin' dar to tik keer on 
'em en make 'em mind wuz name Miss Shappyrune, en 
dat she wuz a takin' de place uv der mothers of all dese 
hyere young erals— 'Whar's she? en ef dere is enny Mr. 
Shappyrune, her husband, in hyerin^ of dat teleform, for 
de Lawd's sake. Jack, ring dat teleform now — ring it 



110 

loud! Wid all clese Chilians uv ole Mr. Shappyrune's, for 
de sake of all dem wives he must hev buried, to have so 
many, tell him to hurry up en come on, fur dis here step- 
ma, Miss Shappyrune, aint no use on airth to 'em in 
any way, ez I sees; dey don't sem to know she's here, 
much less a mindin^ her.' Ef you b'leves it, Miss 
Geraldine, whut you think dat rascal, dat yaller boy, 
'plies to me? He sez: 'Aunt Kizzy, I'm glad deys a 
makin' sich a fuss — I is — kaze onced when me en my 
base ball crowd uv culud folks was a plain' near Miss 
Geraldine's house, we wuz jest a leetle noisy — nuthin' to 
hold a light to dis here Potty — but she jes' gits dat air 
pencil and leetle book er hyern en walks up to us en sez: 
'Give me your names, boys. I am very sorry, but can- 
not have such a disturbance so near my residence. I am 
a true friend to all the darkies, being Southern born and 
reared, but will not have this noise. 1 will take down 
the names of each one of you, and carry the list to 

Lawyer G . He has promised to help me; and 

after he takes the list to Judge Kryouts, we'll see if you 
will disturb me again.'" 

"Aunt Kizzy, dat's bin' more en a year ago; but ef 
you had a hyeard us a promisin' en a beggin' Miss 
Geraldine, as she looked at us — a standin' there, so stric 
like, but so sorry-like, too — you could b'leve me, when I 
clars to you, us scattered quick, an' thanked her, en aint 
never been noisy 'roun dar no mo. But Ise a gwine to 
go and git up a crowd an' kick up fuss arter dis, en 
sichivise. Ise a gwine to git up a House-potty, too; a 
House-potty of pretty culud gals; and we's a gwine to 
foller de 'zample of dese here white folks, en I'm gwine 
to sassy Miss Geraldine, too, next time — I is, mun. 
Now, us ken holler! jes much ez we pleasen to. Ef 
Judge Kryouts lets dis House-potty pass, I Jes dares 
eny Policeman to grab me. I voted for ^Kinley, en 
heap uv dese rich white Yankees 'bout hyere tells 
me dey gwine treat me equal kaze I did vote for 'Kinley." 

''Don't you dar'n tell me 'bout dat rascal 'Kinley. 
Jack, sez I, don't you, nur none de rest uv de sateful 



Ill 

white Yankee trash. Shore ez you does I'll knock you 
spraulin' down hyere before me, like I did my gal Rody, 
arter she'd run away wid dem lyin' Wilson raiders, 
mo en thirty years ago, en den come back to Georgy, a 
huntin' up me. You see, 'twas dis w^ay wid me en my 
gal Rody, Miss Geraldine. Rody wus 'bout fifteen year 
old. Dem white Yankee varmints toled her off, wid fine 
promises of marryin' her en makin' a rich white lady 
outen her. Not a word had I hyearn from her for five 
year, when suddeutly one day she 'peared to me — walked 
right in upon me. Sez she, to me, 'Lady, I am in sarch 
of my mother, a dear ole culu'd lady I lef somewheres 
'bout here 'bout five years ago, named Mrs. Keerziah 
Jones. Lady, ken you tell me enny thing consarnin' her; 
p'r'haps you mought'n hyearn tell on her?' I looked at 
my gal Rody, dressed spic an' span in dat flamin' 
finery. Sez I, 'Look er hyere, Rody, don't you call me 
Lady — don't you call me mother, you black, white-eyed 
jade. Pull off dat baby-lonish gyarments, dem varments 
is dyked you up in — look at me, in my clean, checked 
homespun en white apron, an' see ef you don't know 
your ole mammy you left five years ago. 'Taint been 
so long — en sepen your outlandish talk en furrin ways — 
bein' a leetle taller, a heap leaner, en a powerful sight 
sassier, you hain't changed much. Say, don't you know 
me? I knowed you de minit I sot eyes on you?' But dat 
lyin' huzzy ondaciously sez: 'No, Lady, I do not member 
youl'" 

"Miss Geraldine, when she stuck to lyin' so, sez I : 
'Rhody, I knows you 'members dem Fourth July doins 
on de plantation ebery year — de big peach pot-pies, en 
de chicken pies, en roast pigs wid de red apples in dey 
moufs, en de campmeetin's when so many uv us would 
come thew (profess conversion), en de shoutin' — en at 
Xmas times dem big bowls uv egg nogg, en de pile uv 
comp'ny in de whitefolks' house — en de little niggers 
dancin' 'O/uc/jen-in-de-bread-tray.' You haint forgit all 
dat, and I knows it. Say, don't you know your 
mammy yet, Rody?' Do you b'leve she still had de 



112 

'surance to tell me 'NoV Wid dat las' lye uv hyearn I 
raised up my right arm; I did double up my fist en 
steps right up to dat lyin' vixen en knocks her sprawlin' 
flat on de floor, and sez I, *Rody, now, do you know your 
mammy? Is you convinced nowV So I tole Yaller 
Jack 'bout it, sayin', 'Now, jes sure ez you sassys me, or 
Miss Geraldine, or enny Southern whitefolks, I gwine 
convince you, boy, dat you is still a nigger, by usin' de 
same argufyin' I used on my gal Rody.' I didn't hev 
to argufy no mo. 'I'll larn you how to turn a tarnd 
fool 'bout Kinley, or enny dem vile, underhanded, creepin' 
Yankees — dey so sneakin\^ " 

"Miss Geraldine, dat House-potty is all on 'em Catholics. 
Now I'se a dipped Methodis', myself. Dat's de best 'ligion 
on de yairth. I don't bleve in close communion, but I 
dose bleve in dippin\ So I'se been (iippecZ, en bleves 
strong in my 'ligion. I'se lived 'bout en 'bout sense Ole 
Master and Missis died, en once live wid a Catholic 
family, en shore I knows em eber sense whenever I 
happens to land again em; en all dis House-potty 'dout 
hit's Miss Shappyrune, is Catholics." 
"Why do you think so, Aunt Kizzy?" 
"We)l, fur dis raison: 'Tother night dem boys en gals 
set up sich a yellin' en hollin' dey starts all de neighburs' 
dogs a howlin'. Deij call it singin\ but dis ole nigger 
calls it yellin\ Well, ebery one un 'em hollered to de 
Virgin Mary at onced, a beggin' her 'not to cry no mo,' 
at de top of der lungs.* Sez I to yaller Jack, 'dey better 
quit beggin' her not to cry no mo, en dey better 'gin to 
cry sum dersels for der sins, or stop sum der sins; break- 
fus fum six in de mornin' till twelve en one; er drivin' 
roun' mos' all night; er rarin' on dem wheel things a 
leetle arter daybreak; playin' kyards; dancin', en er 
gwine on like suppin' wile like. I tell you, Miss, dere's 
no 'ligion in enny sich; deys chilluns of Be/zah — all un 
'em — en rite now ef Moses ur Belzebub, ur whatsumeber 



* This charming House-party had made the neighborhood resonant with their for- 
tissimo rendition of the ancient plantation melody, "Sweet Mary, Weep no More for 
Me," and Aunt Kizzie had ignorantly mistaken the grand concert for an ''■Ave 
Maria.''' She meant no sacrilege. 



113 

dat pious, good man in de Bible wuz name what drawed 
a line en axed de question, 'Whoeber's on de Lord's side 
come over dis side de line en say so,^ I tell you, mun, 
nary one would move till dey axed, 'Ken we tik our 
kyards en dancin^ en wheels wid usV Its sich a bad 
^zample to set, Miss Geraldine. Look how its done 
turned Jack a fool; en yestidy, when 1 wuz at de station 
waitin' fur suppin' to cum out on de 'lectric kyar, some 
little white gals wuz a waitin der, too. 'Mongst 'em wuz 
yourn, Miss Geraldine; dem two pretty little gals uv 
yourn. Knowin' how ez you wuz er tryin' to raze 'em 
up pious, en knowin' you alius sets 'em a good 'zample, 
I sez to de biggest one uv 'em: 'Honey,' sez I, 'you 
wouldn't holler en cavort roun' like dat House-potty do, 
would you, chile — I knows you wouldn't — settin' up en 
hollerin' de liv' long night?'" 

"Ef you b'leve me, Miss Geraldine, she 'lowed, 'Oh, 
yes. Aunt Kizzy; how I ivould enjoy it!' 

"I groanes, den, Miss Kizzy, kaze I thought de 
oldest one would sho say, 'No, Aunt Kizzy, 72ot me.' 
So den I turns my 'tenshun to dat leetle gal o' yourn, de 
one what's jes' de 'very spit er yourself in looks and 
ways en ebery thing. Sez I: 'Honey, don't you wish 
you could alius stay leetle en young like you is noiu, en 
neber git grown?' 1 farly jumped when dat purty leetle 
cretur sez: 'No, Aunt Kizzy; 1 wish I ivuz grown dis 
minit, so I could go to a german, en be at a House-jjotty .^ 
Sich is de evil uv ^zample, Miss Geraldine; hits a bad 
moriale, ez de preacher sez. 

"Well, Miss Geraldine, I mus' be a gwine on my way 
to fix supper for dat pistiferous House-potty. I'm much 
obliged fer tellin' me hit Haint a o?2righteous house I'se 
not convinced by no means, but den hit's some comfort 
to dis unlarned ole nigger to hyear a Southern white 
lady like yourself tell me hit aint, ennyhow, kaze I'se 
alius had confidence in you bein' ez I knowed all your 
folks fo de war, when us lived on 'jinin' plantations. I 
was a young gal, jes growed up, and you wuz only a 
leetle bit er chile. Thang God, de Housepotty breaks up 
in too mo' days, and dey wont hev to beg me not to cry 



114 

no mo', like dey does de Virgin Mary! No, Miss Geral- 
dine! Dis ole nigger will shout for joy onced mo' in her 
life when she see de las' one un 'em tik a bee-line for der 
homes, wherever dey is. Miss Sally lef me hyere to 
res', but blest ef I'se had res', ur sleep, sence dat House- 
potty 's been out hyere, turnin' things up side-down." 
" Your neighbors '11 all miss em ma'am — " 
"And you, Aunt Kizzy, won't you miss them, also?" 
" Yes, Miss Geraldine, I will. I'll miss 'em, but I 
wont say now !" 

And away old Aunt Kizzy walkod, leaving me to the 
fast approaching twilight, with its weird, mystic dreams. 
The silver moon soon gilded the clear heavens. Beneath 
the resplendent orb the trees were casting their beautiful 
shadows. Now and then a twittering bird, amid its 
leafy home, trilled softly the parting note, adding sweet- 
ness to the voices of the grand, majestic Summer night. 
Odors of rarest flowers greeted me on every side; and 
on that magic car — the "association of ideas" — I, sitting 
there in the radiant moonlight, was soon transported, in 
memory, from Aunt Kizzy's description of the modern 
Houseparty — far away to ante-bellum years — to the first 
Houseparty of my recollection. I was a child. It was 
in the sweet month of October, near the Old Capital of 
Georgia, composed of a fair assembly of the elite of the 
day — Senators, fair ladies, entertained at the home of a 
notably hospitable Southern family, with all the delicious 
cuisine and service of ante-bellum times. 
On some future occasion I may recount it. 



BROTHER JENKINS' SERMON. 
It was in the ante-bellum days, at a little country 
church for plantation darkies. In those happy times it 
was customary for the planters jointly to employ a 
preacher, often a white one, to preach alternately on 
several plantations, on Sunda^^s. A goodly number of 
these similar rustic churches abounded, and the preacher 
was always sure of good attendance. The owners' and 
overseers' families often attended, also, always occupying 



115 

the rear benches in the congregation. These churches 
were not unfrequently constructed of logs. On "big 
meetin' " occasions an addition was usually made of 
branches of trees, being cut and arranged after the man- 
ner of a porch, usually called a bush-arbor. On one of 
these protracted meetings I was an attendant. It was a 
bright Sunday in the Summer time. One of the mem- 
bers was a stout, brawny woman, with ebony complexion 
and strikingly contrasting eyes of glaring white, and 
ver}^ large. She "shouted" so regularh^ I may say 
invaribly, at the "big meetins" that the exciting cere- 
monies would have been wholly incomplete without this 
musical solo — devotional, if not, altogether, mellifluous. 

I must say that Dinah's vocal contribution to the 
services were always expected, by not only the darkies, 
but also by the 'Umckra,^^ as the whites were often 
called in olden times. The arbor was attached to the 
side entrance, the door being left open, and a passage- 
way left unobstructed from side-door, through arbor, so 
one could easily find ingress or egress without disturbing 
the worshipers. 

On this special Sunday afternoon the preacher was a 
low, fat, good-natured, old white man, whose profile 
always reminded me of a pig, bearing strong resemblance 
in features and expression to that very irreligious quad- 
ruped. Old Brother Jenkins was explaining to his 
congregation why he had not fulfilled his "/as' appint- 
ment,^^ and excitedly apologising for the seeming remis- 
ness, "My brethren and sisters,'' said he, " I was kep' 
away from my appintment at this blessed Gopher Holler 
Meetin' House by a Providential dispensation; an awful 
'fliction of Providence has scathed me since I was las' 
here, and at one time I feared I would never be present 
here, with you, again. May you all be spared from a 
like 'fliction, my congregation. I have been down in the 
Yalley of Dry Bones, and heard their rattlin' and shakin' 
since las' at Gopher Holler, but a Merciful Father has 
brought me thew, an I rejoice to meet you all here 
ao^ain." 



116 

My curiosity had reached the climax, and I was invol- 
untarily leaning -forward, as I sat on the rear bench, 
listening eagerly for Brother Jenkins to disclose what 
dire affliction had visited him, and had already decided, 
mentally, that nothing less than the death of one of the 
dear ones of home could have evolved such prolonged and 
eloquent prelude from his lips. Dinah, the celebrated 
shouter, had been groaning and rolling her huge white 
orbs for some time. Her custom was always to sit by 
some strong, stalwart darkey brother for the purpose of 
having his strong arms to hold her when the proper time 
arrived for that very essential service. She had nearly 
reached the shouting point. Louder and longer sounded 
those pious groans. "My brethren and sisters," said 
he just then, ''the special dispensation of Providence 
that kep' me from dis blessed Gopher Holler Church was 
a v-i-o-l-e-n-t attac' of cramp colic 1^'' 

At this surprising and impressive revelation, Dinah's 
sympathetic and pious emotions were overpowering, and 
she became so noisy, and withal, so active in her swaying 
movements, to and fro, that her adjacent brother, was 
wholly unable to obey her vociferous command, ''Hold 
me! brudder, hold me!" Losing her equilibrium, she 
rolled over the assisting brother on into the arbor, through 
the unobstructed passage way, on, and still on, over the 
sloping ''neiv ground.^'' The countless stumps tore cruel 
slits in her gay, parti-colored calico dress. "Hold me! 
brudder, hold me!" she was continually shouting. 

At this interesting part of the performance, her hus- 
band's form was seen, bareheaded, screaming and leaping 
from the congregation following in Dinah's wake, not 
recumbent like herself, but running at full speed to catch 
her — " Stop dat nigger, dar? 'fore Jehovah dat nigger 's 
tarrin' dat bran' new kaliker coat offen her! Wait twell 
you gits on de white field coat, you huzzy ! Stop, I 
say!" 

But as well might that regretful consort have said to 
the Chattahoochee River, "run up stream," and expected 
obedience. "Hold me! brodder, hold me!" still rang 



117 

with clarion tones, resounding from hillside and valley. 
Just here I beat a hasty retreat from Gopher Holler 
Meetin' House, and found a friendly pine, behind which 
I indulged in convulsive laughter, the echoes of Dinah's 
voice still shouting, "H-o-l-e m-e! budder, h-o-l-e m-e!" 



A DEFENCE OF THE SHOP-GIRL. 

I was once accosted by a woman who might have 
attained to the rightful claims of gentility, save for her 
superabundant amount of egotism. She possessed this 
characteristic in such generous quantities as almost to 
eradicate every other attribute except those engendered 
by the ego. She was almost in an abnormal condition, 
caused by this dominant power. It preponderated to 
such an alarming extent, that she believed it her special 
prerogative to go about the world offering gratuitous 
opinions and advice to her superiors, conscientiously 
thinking that no other human being knew anything half 
so well as herself. Wholly ignorant of good breeding 
herself, she could not possibly comprehend, still less 
appreciate, innate politeness when she met with it. Ego- 
tism positively entered into her physique — strange as it 
may sound. One might read it in the expression of her 
countenance, hear it in her voice, and see it in her car- 
riage. She went about with a stiff neck, her nose stuck 
up in the air — her whole look and manner impressing the 
observer with the idea that this egotist seemed to be 
inhaling the aroma so odoriferous of some def.unct object, 
left usually to the kind attentions of the street scavenger 
wagons, or else relegated to the courtesies of that stately, 
although not extremely fastidious bird, the vulture — 
commonly called by the little girls and boys of the town, 
the buzzard. 

This woman who assailed me, combined with her ego- 
tism so much toadyism and obsequiousness, usual com- 
panions, that I invariably experienced a chill of disgust 
whenever meetinor her. 



118 

On the occasion herein related, she accosted me by 
saying: 

"You are familiar with shop-girls. I am surprised; 
and think your aristocratic relatives would be, too, if 
they knew it." 

^' I commission you to inform them of it at once, that 
is, if you'll first explain your definition of 'familiar,' I 
replied." 

"I mean the way in which you treat a good many 
shop-girls." 

I gave my assailant a look, saying: "If, by 'familiar,' 
you mean kindness, consideration, respect, sympathy, 
courtesy, then I accept your charge, and will reply to 
you here, on the spot, face to face. 

"I will begin by saying that this special shop-girl, to 
whom you refer, is only one of many working girls and 
women I take pleasure in trying lo help. The subject of 
your remark is a perfect lady, in manner, deportment, 
and principles; and being such, she is wholly your supe- 
rior, in that she has never been known to meddle with 
affairs not her own, or to rudely accost any one, on the 
street or elsewhere. As to your social status, I consider 
it only assumed and pretentious, for more reasons than 
one. Have you, Miss Egotist, no cartes de visite on 
your tablet of society left by those who either have been, 
or their ancestors, shop-girls? It is nothing against 
them, in my estimation. Why do you visit and invite 
to your house these, and condemn me simply for being 
considerate of the others? I will tell you: It is for the 
one and sole reason that these former shop-girls with 
whom you are 'familiar' (using your acceptation of the 
word) have become rich by their shop wages having been 
saved, or by their having married rich men; and you are 
to-day acknowledging their money, socially; but it does 
not do away with the shoprgirl representative. And if 
today, suddenly, by any means ivhatsoever, these same 
shop-girls you are deriding, should step into wealth, 
your carte de visite, Miss Egotist, would be the first to 
be received and left in the card-receiver by your own 



119 

niammon-worshiping self, at her door. And since you 
have rudely, and unprovoked, dared to impeach my per- 
sonal right to judge and act for myself, I will say another 
thing of this lady clerk, whom you attack through me. 
None of her relatives have ever been known to recognize 
or join the votaries of the demi-monde. Can you say 
the same? 

"You flush angrily, and say: 'But some of the shop- 
girls' reputation is not blameless in that regard.'" 

"Granted, and the same may truly be said of your 
society members sometimes. Is the crime any less hein- 
ous in the one than the other, because in one case the 
girl is poor, and in the other riches excuse, in your eyes, 
the transgression?" 

"I would say to you, Miss Ego, that you would do 
wisely and well to emulate the pure, honest, upright life 
of many of these worthy shop-girls. Many of their 
lives, if recorded, would add to the annals of the world's 
truest heroines, in their unselfish acts to father, mother, 
and the little ones, often sick or needy, in their patience, 
chastity and enterprise. Learn, Miss Meddlesome Ego, 
to attend to your own affairs. Go home, search upon 
your book-shelves for Prof. Anybody^s elementally treatise 
on common politeness for the house or street, read, pause 
and digest that very valuable volume. Then get on 
your knees (provided the attitude of kneeling does not 
seriously pain your stiff neck), and ask God to help you 
to eradicate some of that ego in you. ( Try yourself, 
too, or all the asking will be in vain.) 

"Now if you will take my advice, and do all this con- 
scientiously, and persist in your efforts, then there may 
yet be some hope that you, by some magnanimous possi- 
bility of God's wondrous vouchsafed grace, may grad- 
ually approximate to the good breeding, politeness and 
thorough kindliness of heart and manner of these worthy 
shop-girls." 

Now, reader, you perhaps may be surprised, but I must 
truthfully state that Miss Ego did not once even say 
thank you, for my kind, compulsory homily! But she 
remained silent, and I went on my way. I cannot yet 



120 

say whether she has grown polite, and learned to drop 
officiousness, for I am convinced that true politeness is 
like one's backbone, or the shape of the nose — innate — 
and inseparable from the whole of one's make-up. 

There is such a thing as "righteous indignation." It 
means a just, pardonable, commendable feeling of resent- 
ment in a person, expressed by word and manner, to any 
one who, with no provocation on the part of the assailed 
party, rudely attacks the victim simply for want of good 
breeding, simply from innate rudeness and coarseness. 

Never, my reader, be you man, woman or child, make 
the first encounter causelessly; but when thus attacked, 
if you must strike, deal such a salutary, trenchant, stun- 
ning blow that when your swell-headed assailant recovers 
she will, at least, allow you the laissez /aire, even if 
you cannot prevail upon her to con the instructive pages 
of Prof. Anybody's volume, referred to above. It is a 
gain to be rid of such persons. "Righteous indignation" 
is your only weapon with the meddlesome Ego. 

God bless the worthy, honest, industrious shop-girls! 
shield and prosper them! It may be that when the pearly 
gates are open in that unknown world of beauty and of 
just rewards, many of the patient, unselfish toilers in the 
shop may find those glorious portals open for their 
entrance; when the egotistical, uncharitable critics will 
be exiled, for egotism is always diametrically opposed to 
sweet charity, without which all else is nothing. 

Remember, the sensibilities of the egotist resemble the 
thickness of the rhinoceros' hide; mild blows are unfelt. 

How obsequious is the Ego! paying court in all quar- 
ters, where self-interest is involved — be it social or 
financial. 

St. Augustine was once asked the question : "What 
is piety, its^rs^ requisite?" 

"Humilit}^" he replied. 

•"And the second?" "Humility." 

"And the third?" "Humility." 

But not once does he say humiliation. Never! 

If, for a reason, a person chooses to accept humiliations 



121 

from one's own relatives, as a portion of his or her 
imposed self-abnegation, for any offence, or wrong, done 
those relativ^es, that is another thing, altogether, and 
optional with the person humiliated. 

But when an officious outsider arrogates to herself the 
prerogative of saying one single insulting word, un- 
provoked, strike hard with all the power with which 
God has endowed you ; remembering that your quiver 
must be armed with the arrow of Truth, else the missile 
will have no effect, but fall wide of its mark. Strike so 
forcibly that 07ie blow will be sufficieDt. 

Silence is golden on many occasions, but it is power- 
less when the insult demands " righteous indignation.'' 
Never confound Humiliation with, nor substitute it for 
Humility, for they are absolutely separate attributes. 

Feeling has sacred rights, as well as action. Preserve 
those rights. Let no rude outsider invade the holy 
precincts. Yield not, with craven acquiescence, to over- 
bearing egotism. 

Do not vainly hope to eradicate that proud, arrogant, 
presumptive, assertive trait in your assailant. Never! 
But you may at least protect your modest selr from a 
second onset from that obnoxious individual. 

George McDonald graphically, and briefly, sums it, 
with his fine descriptive, comprehensive powers, when he 
thus describes the Egotist : 

" He was a little cock who thought the sun had risen 
to hear him crow" — (and the little egotistical hens and 
pullets think the same.) 

When our loving Father chooses to humiliate us, by 
taking away our fortune, dear ones, friends, health, and 
earthly hopes, accept the stroke, with meekness and 
Humility — "Be still, and know, that I am God." 

But never once allow the Egotist, man or woman, to 
arrogantly dare question your right of self-government, 
of thought, feeling, action, preference. Be not the 
automatic victim of some audacious Egotist, else that 
egotism will merge into hypnotism, and all unconscious 
to yourselves, you become hopelessly controlled by a 

(5d) 



122 

dominant power — of a lower, coarser nature than 3'our 
own, and the instant that occurs you have fallen from your 
high estate — you have ignobly lowered your standard 
of lofty manhood, or womanhood. You have sunk to 
the despicable level of your dominant tyrant — the Egotist. 



CUFFEE'S BRAYERY. 

An aristocrat of the Southern type who was proverb- 
ial for his elegance, and gentlemanly deportment, would 
occasionally give vent to an oath when provoked beyond 
measure. 

An old darkey was telling another old darkey com- 
rade, that on one occasion "Mars Kingsley used cuss 
words to me." 

" Cuss words/ ^^ replied Sambo. "Jim, I jes' tells you 
what — dis nigger do, when Mars Kingsley dars to cuss 
me — I jes' cusses him back — mouf to mouf, I does. I 
aint gwine let no buckra cuss me now, I kin tell you, 
Jim. No, Siree, I aint, muni not sence de Yankess 
telled me not to, Why'ent ijou cuss him back, you nig- 
ger, you?" 

"Now, Sambo, you don't sho mean to 'sert dat Mars 
Kingsley tuck your cussin'. do you? Dat is sprisin', 
sho." 

"He sho tuk de cussin', Jim — ef you don't b'leve dis 
nigger, jes' try it. You know de Yankess sez us is good 
ez de white folks, en / sho is gwine to cuss em ebry time 
dey dars to cuss dis nigger." 

Jim listened attentively for a few moments, removing 
his tattered hat, and scratching his bald fringed pate, 
then replied: "I'se gwine try it sho. I'se got some 
business wid Mars Kingsley, 'bout some cotton I owes 
him, en sho's he sassies me, I'se gwine cuss him. Ef he 
tuk it fum you, Sambo, he'll tik it fum me." 

And off he went, in search of Mars Kingsley. On 
finding him, he began talking in a very impudent man- 
ner, telling Mars Kingsley: "1 isn't gwine pay you 



123 

'twell I gits ready." The Southern aristocrat absolutely 
dazed at Jim's unprecedented and uncalled for insolence, 
asked in an authoritative tone: "Jim, what do you 
mean, you scoundrel, by addressing ine in such a man- 
ner? " 

Jim, here, replied with the longed-for oath, that he 
really enjoyed — the time had come, and he had positively 
asserted his equality with Mars Kingsley, by actually 
cussin^ him. Before the oath had fairly left Jim's thick 
Ethiopian rubicund lips, however, he felt a stanning 
blow that felled him to the ground, and felt the pressure 
of a pair of feet standing on his prostrate body, that 
were vigorously performing the gymnastic exercise, vul- 
garly called by niggers, stompin\^ "Oh Lawdy, Mars 
Kingsley, jes' git off, en spar' de life of dis fool nigger 
wonced mo', and [ clars by the Saint Bolumnu, I'll neber 
cus you, nur no white bukra no mo'. Oh Lawdy! OhI" 

When he finally rose, bruised and sore, "a sadder," 
but certainly, "a wiser" nigger, he brushed the grit off 
his clothes, picked up his sand covered hat, and looked 
down the street at Mars Kingsley walking along in bis 
usual grandiloquent manner. 

"Fore Gawd, I'se been a fool, fer de las' time." Then 
making his way back to Sambo, he said, "Nigger, whut 
fur you tell me dat d — n lie fur? De minute I fairly 
started to cuss Mars Kingsley de sparks flew outen my 
eyes, I was sprawlin' on de groun' en Mars Kingsley on 
top stompin' me mos' ter def." "You fool," said Sambo, 
"You aholy didn't cuss Mars Kingsley to his faceV^ 
"You said you cussed him." "So I did, nigger, but not 
to his face — not oat loud! Dis nigger jes' means I cussed 
him in my mine!^^ 



GIRLS. 

"Girls, like the priestesses of old, should be educated 
only in sacred places; and never hear, much less see, 
whatever is rude, immoral, or violent." 

Not literally in a convent, as some might wrongly 



124 

interpret "sacred places," as expressed so forcibly and 
beautifully by Riehter. Reverently, tenderly, I touch 
this topic, with a feeling somewhat as if unveiling- some 
hallowed sanctum sanctorum. 

You exclaim at once, "Indeed, I do not see why; I do 
not understand, at all; I see nothing reverent about 
yirls!^'' Such an involuntary remark from you is elicited, 
as you think, instantly, of the girl of to-day as she is, 
as she usually appears — her type, as viewed from the 
general point of view — you have based your exclamation 
on the impression the commonplace girl has necessarily 
made on your mind. And you are not to blame. Alas! 
for, indeed, many of them are only commonplace, I 
deeply regret to say. 

Girls of to-day allow such familiarity from the opposite 
sex, are guilty of such laxity of deportment themselves, 
of such lack of any deference to their elders — even to 
their ])arents and grand-parents — .seemingly ignorant of 
the very tirst recjuisites of politeness, which seemed innate 
in the past generation, that when — very occasionally one 
meets with an exception — a well-mannered, considerate, 
deferential girl — a girl who repels the insolent familiarity 
of boys and men — one is simply amazed, as greatly as 
gratified and pleased. 

Girls, as they should and can be, are God's highest, 
best and most beautiful creations. Alas! the girl-child 
of today actually loses her childhood 'ere she scarcely 
reaches the threshhold of budding womanhood. I heard 
a gentleman, not long since, say : " I wish I could see 
some children once more — innocent, unsophisticated 
children — as I remember them in my young days. Are 
there any children now?" In vain you protest, and 
say to me, " you are drawing isolated cases." By no 
means. In proof of which the united opinion of the 
majority of the best-bred men and women — persons of 
polite rearing, refinement and culture — coincide with me. 
Our opinions are justly formed — (reluctantly enough, 
heaven knows,) from daily personal observation. How 



125 

many of them are physical and moral wrecks, long before 
they arrive at the age of manhood, and womanhood. 

Mothers, if your daughters have been endowed with 
gracefulness and beauty, teach them, religiously, that 
kindness — genuine and heartfelt — must accompany these 
gifts, or they become a curse, instead of a blessing. Only 
a kindhearted person can possibly be uniformly polite. 
Without true, steadfast politeness, a girl had far better 
never have been born. If your daughter is specially 
gifted, or talented — more brilliant in intellect than her 
companions — receive these attributes as special favor 
from the Great Dispenser of all things. But carefully 
and early teach your girls that no real blessedness can 
ever attain even brilliancy and attractiveness in a high 
degree, if divested of what should always l)e the sweet 
handmaiden of genius, viz: a loving, charital)le spirit. 

Going too early into "society," mingling and associ- 
ating promiscuously with boys and men — so often rough 
and horrible in their deportment and conversation — sel- 
dom making remarks unless attended with some impure 
inuendos, takes the down from the peach, the freshness 
from the cherry — while yet your girls are children in 
years — leaving literally nothing in store for them when 
they shall have reached young womanhood. 

How is it with their education? Very much in this 
wise: "Mamma. I don't want to go to such a school." 
And the mother yields at once, without one dissenting 
word; not but that in many instances the parent prefers 
that very school, but simply that the child completely 
governs the mother in all things. It applies to all ques- 
tions of daily life. Does your young daughter wish to 
attend festivals, receptions, operas, theatres, so frequently 
in one week or month that you can see she is over- 
fatigued, unfitted thereby from accomplishing any domes- 
tic duty? (Indeed, she is already robbed of any inclina- 
tion for anything domestic.) It never occurs to her, even 
in the long Summer vacations, to prepare some dainty 
dish for that fond, devoted father, who, in many cases, 
labors so hard in order to lavish iuduluences on his 



126 

spoiled darling. She does not even think of sweetly 
meeting him on home's threshold with an atfectionate 
greeting, placing his slippers ready for his tired feet. 
Oh, no!" And yet how much it would lessen his labors. 
How greatly would it increase the joys of home. But 
the young girl has no time for that, she says, and yet 
how many of them have time for frequently entertaining 
boys with not sense enough, and less inclination, to make 
their salt, and not sensibility enough to appreciate one 
of the sweet arts the girl is devotedly wasting on him. 
Often he cannot pay for the cigarettes he smokes, and 
borrows the money to cash the soda-water drinks he gives 
her. Bear in mind that this girl has not reached "grown 
up years" — only a child! but fearfully, mournfully pa^-^ee 
in all but years. Going out with chaperones, themselves 
guilty of breaches of common politeness — allowing 
familiarity and rudeness in those they pretend to chape- 
rone, with never a reproving glance or word Think of 
the thousands of dollars worse than thrown away on the 
musical opportunities given these girls. Why? Not that 
their teachers are incompetent; not that the girl is devoid 
of voice or talent, but simply because the time that 
should be daily, regularly apportioned to technique 
theory, practicing, is given to Society — frittered away, 
sinned away, correctly speaking — in straining her nerves 
and ambitions to entertain and be entertained in frivoli- 
ties divested of one pure, educating, elevating purpose. 
The same may be said of the vast amount of money 
wasted on giving them Art, and other accomplishments. 
Their whole youth — childhood and womanhood — are 
centred in demoralizing occupations. 

Teach your girls, by your example and association, to 
always greet each member of the family, and servants, 
a pleasant "good morning," and "good night;" to keep 
tidy, cleanl}^ rooms; to associate only with the pure and 
good; select their companions for their personal merit, 
and not for the amount of taxes paid by their parents on 
personal property. Make your homes "sacred places" by 



127 

their jmr it y, morality, and ostracism therefrom of rude, 
coarse persons. 

Dear girls, I would have you hospitable and sociable. 
Few love you as I do. I want you to have your social 
gathering's — wisely attended — to have a plenty of pleas- 
ure, but not to indulge until it amounts to dissipation. 
But I beg you, dear loves, to make these things only 
secondary in your life occupations. Why not sometimes 
offer, lovingly, to help weary mother with some of her 
housekeeping? Sometimes give yourself a glimpse and 
touch of the Divinity Himself by nursing and playing 
with the baby? You know you cannot be ubiquitous. 
No one can — least of all, Society girls and women. 

Cultivate a cheerful sunshiny manner and speech. 
Such a girl can give out more comfort and happiness — 
can radiate around the dear home circle more true joy — 
more real sunshine, than all the loud, rude, selfish, im- 
modest girls, that go to constitute all the fashionable 
fads and events, designed by Satan's votaries, in the world! 
How frequently does the course of the stereotyped 
girl of to day end in shame, and disgrace! If it involved 
only herself, there were not cause for half the regret 
there is. But, alas — while she "cannot touch pitch" 
without soiling her own hands, and soul — she, likewise 
can never, possibly do the latter without dragging also 
into disgrace the names of her innocent family, some 
grey-haired father must go mourning always — some 
sweet, pure mother must break her heart in grief — some 
innocent brothers and sisters must bear innocently their 
share of her ignominy — and generation after generation, 
must live and die, in the shadow, that one sinful girl has 
entailed upon them. 

The twenty-four hours of the day and night allow no 
time, to be, at the same time, a true home-loving girl, 
a devotee to vain empty amusements, carried to a sinful 
excess. You cannot be both. Choose for yourself, and 
choose wisely, and in time. Make your lives worth liv- 
ing. Be something near and dear and helpful to home, 



128 

to servants; to neighbors; to the suffering and poor, 
wherever needed. 

If you think, my dear girls, that I am an extremist — 
if you are angry and impatient with me, mothers — I 
heartily wish, that every one of you, could have heard a 
sermon I heard in church in New Orleans a few years 

ago by the Rev. Mr. W r, rector of that grand old 

church. It seemed to me that every sentiment he uttered 
was but the echo of my observations on society for several 
years. He plainly, and oh! so lovingly told his congre- 
gation that all efforts to accomplish good in the church, 
or in the world, would be vain, while society remained 
upon its present social basis. And, when summing up 
the many evils, social, financial, moral, mental, he re- 
marked calmly and sadly. 

"And who is to blame? With deep regret and sor- 
row, truth compels me to say the evil lies at the door of 
you society women. You have put manacles on many a 
man's wrists; you have put many a man behind the 
prison bars — in anguish and disgrace, who otherwise 
would have gone through life blameless." 

Remember, dear mothers, for I love you all dearly, 
that the gi7^Is you are rearing in all the present evils of 
society, are daily and yearly growing into the women 
who gradually reach the fatal precipice, and in their 
fatal fall, must needs drag some innocent name, and lov- 
ing life down with them 

A constant desire to go, to hunt up other companions 
than those at home, to make themselves conspicuous, an 
insatiable desire for novelty and dissipation, have come 
to be one of the dominating passions of girls of to-day. 

Mothers, be careful what books 3^our girls read. 
Worlds of endless harm are disseminated by impure, 
sensational books. Pour passer le temps, girls will 
dawdle over a novel, the latest fashion-plates, scandals 
in high life, and g-loat over how some clever American 
mamma "managed" to ally her daughter to a worthless, 
dissolute scion of a broken down nobility. Again (and 
this is perhaps one of the saddest features of the mature, 



129 

elderly years of what girlhood merges into), they marry, 
become mothers, their daughters become members of 
Society; and when these mothers should long since have 
retired from assuming the 7'ole of the young Society 
woman, she will not relinquish these vanities even then. 
When her greatest delight in life should be to help train 
those precious little ones God has given her — alas! she 
cannot! Love of Society has eradicated all love for such 
occupations and duties. So long have frivolities absorbed 
her very being, that she is environed; mind, heart, im- 
pulse, desire and ambition know but one impetus. 

Ask for your girls the highest, best gifts, and personally 
help them to reach the pinnacle. Like the mother of 
Zebedee's children, ask the loftiest gifts within power of 
the Divinity. 

"Oh, Mothers!" said Mme. de Remusat, "gather your 
children about you early. Dare to say to them, when 
they come into the world, that your youth is passing into 
theirs! Oh, mothers! he mothers, and you will be wise 
and happy." 

Be brave enough to snatch your darling girls from the 
vortex of demoralization that encompasses them. Impress 
upon them that a girl who allows rudeness and familiarity 
from the tpyiciil boy and man, soon sinks into equal vul- 
garity as himself. 

A young girl — modest, refined, dutiful, in whatsoever 
station her duties place her — maintaining her o\v n individ- 
uality of purity of thought, manner, word — irrespective 
of her companions' criticisms and gibes, is one of the 
most refreshing things in all this wide world. Every 
one of you, my dears, can be just such a charming, lovely 
person, if you wish. Try it, and see what an infinite 
amount of happiness it will bring. Then, indeed, many 
homes, depressed by the presence of ennuyed girls — 
worthless, and sewing the seeds for life-time misery — will 
become "sacred places" of peace and joy. And you will 
soon learn to love to avoid every thing that is "rude, 
immoral and violent." You will become "priestesses" — 
not of secluded monasteries — but happier far, a thousand 

(6) 



130 

fold, and just as good, and pure, and useful, as veiled 
Nun of celebate vows — priestesses, verily, around domestic 
altars of purest affection, making happy and guiding 
into a higher life some fortunate husband, who can fondly 
and proudly date his upward career, his real happiness, 
from the hour you taught him, hy your own girlish 
abhorrence, and ostracism of everything that savored of 
coarseness or familiarity, to deport himself in accordance 
to your high standard of what constitutes the true gen- 
tleman, else forfeit all claims to your acquaintance and 
companionship. 



FORGIVENESS. 

Not because we wish their forgiveness; not because we 
feel we rightly deserve to suffer; not even, because we 
are endeavoring, by so doing, "to return good for evil;" 
nor, simply, in order to live "peacefully with all men, as 
far as in us lies." 

The one grand, sublime, Christian reason, can only truly 
be for the same reason, that Christ, in his agony on the 
cross, rendered: "Father forgive them, for they know 
not wnat they do." 

They have broken our hearts, wrecked our lives; but 
the very coarseness of their natures makes them callous, 
ignorant of the great offense and wrong they have 
inflicted; nor could they possibly, comprehend such a 
feeling, if expressed by the injured. They have been 
basely ungrateful, false, unworthy of anything but abso- 
lute contempt from God and man. They can no more 
comprehend the evil done than a person wholly deficient 
in the slightest musical talent, or training, could com- 
prehend the divine Sonatos of Beethoven, or creations 
of a Listz. 

The blind cannot see, nor the deaf hear, the dumb 
speak, or the lame walk. 

I once knew a person, whom the scarlet fever had 
deprived of the sense of smell. In vain, for him, were 
the roses' odors distilled, or violets' perfume exhaled. 



131 

Coarseness cannot understand, even remotely, exquisite 
refinement, or pious devotion, cruel natures know not 
how to be kind; dishonor fails to comprehend the loftiest 
honor; diabolical, selfish lasciviousness, cannot conceive 
the remotest idea of lofty principle, and sublime self- 
abnegation. "Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do." 



THE GEORGIA CHIGGER. 

Southerners, familiar with the diminutive size of the 
energetic, persistent, irrepressible insect, yclept, Georgia 
Ghigger, will appreciate the following: 

An ancient dame, who was a martyr to the invasion 
of brigades of these pests, was in the habit of relegat- 
ing the task of finding, and exterminating these ene- 
mies to all physical comfort, to a little darkey. One day 
the lady said to her, "Roxy, you can't see them can 
you?" 

"Oh, yes, ma'am, I ken." 

"Well," responded the lady, "I can't, unless I had a 
microscope. Can you see the heads?" 

"Oh! yes, ma'am." "But you can't see the feet?" 

"Yes'em, I ken see de foots, too!" 

"Well, I know you cannot see the eyes." 

"Yes^em, I ken see de eyes too." 

"Then, Roxy, tell me what sort of eyes have they." 

"Dey is got blue eyes ma'am — I ken see 'em j^lain.^^ 



I'M AN ARTIST. 

"Miss Geraldine," said Pheby, "Dare's er nartis at 
de do' — at de front do' ; say he "^got some fine, new Art 
'terials to shew you; en sides dat, he say ez how he's 
sho got some bery Hickler ^jjortance business wid you." 

"Pheby," I replied, "why do you annoy me in this man- 
ner when 1 am so busy? Have you not sent away a thou- 
sand traveling agents without coming to me? Have I not 
told you to ahvays say to them that 'The Lady buys 



132 

nothing at the door; never opens it to, or ever sees trav- 
eling agents, and never keeps any money in the house? 
Now, whj could you not obey me this time as here- 
tofore?" 

"Kaze, Miss Geraldine, dat nartis kum fum 'tward de 
house en dem lots you wants to sell; en when he sez 
'Tell de Lady I'se got some Hickler en ^portance busi- 
ness I karn't ^splain to nobody 'tall sepin^ herself, I 
thinks to myself — now, dis nartis is sho wantin' to buy 
er rent; dems de raisons I comes to you, Miss; en he 
sez, too, be sure en tell de Lady dat I ain't gwine to 
entertain (detain) her but three minutes. 'Scusen me, 
please. Miss." 

The words "particular and important" had the same 
effect on my cranium as they had produced on Pheby. 
Thinking, and faintly hoping, that perhaps some kind 
angel — patiently and industriously fighting his way 
through all the density of McKinleyism — had at last 
landed in my vicinity to buy or rent an abiding place, I 
laid my work aside, arose and said: 

"Well, Pheby, it does sound and look like business. 
I'll accompany you as far as the front hall. Admit him, 
but be sure you remember to remain standing at the back 
of my chair until the departure of dat nartis.''^ 

"Yes, Miss." 

"Placing some chairs, Pheby opened the front door. 
Expecting to see a man with some visible samples of the 
divine Art of painting, imagine my surprise and con- 
sternation when in walked a tall, slim, seedy, shabbily- 
dressed, coarse-looking, red-nosed man, accompanied with 
a young, common-looking woman, holding a very young 
baby in her arms. No portmanteau, no sachel, no pack- 
age of any kind was visible. Mentally wondering where 
the Art materials could be, and on not seeing them, more 
thoroughly convinced that some kind-hearted estate agent 
had sent this unknown party to me to rent a house, I 
politely asked them to be seated, pointing to the chairs. 
"What is your important business that can be explained 
only to myself, sir," I inquired. 



133 

"Yes, nica'am, I'll explain!" said the man; "won't 
detain you more than three minutes. You see, ma'am, 
I was a try in' to git my wife to my ivife^s father, and 
I'm just from Blanktown, but I don't live there, an' I 
don't know your name, an' who lives at the next house?" 

Almost dazed with amazement, I interrupted him by 
saying : 

"But, sir, this is not telling me your business with me? 
What is it, do you want food or clothing? If so, 
I'll help your wife and babv that way, gladly. Please, 
at once, state your business, for my time is precious?" 

"Yes, ma'am, sutenly, immejitly, ma'am; I wonH 
detain you more than three minutes! As I was a sayin', 
I was a try in' to git my icife to my wife^s father, an' 
my baby was sick with the colic last night— (here I 
glanced at the fat, healthy -looking representative of dat 
nartis) an' we staid at the"^ hotel last night, an', as I was 
a sayin', I was tryin' to get my wife to my wife's — " 

"Sir," I interrupted him, ''what do you wish with me; 
in Heaven's name tell me! You sent word by my servant 
to me that your business with me was imp07Hant — could 
be explained only to myself— and, besides, that you were 
an Artist, with some new art materials to exhibit!" 

At these important words, the seedy, slim "naHis^" 
darted through the front door, and returned in an instant, 
bringing a little basket, the exact counterpart and model 
of the Concord grape basket, with which we are all 
familiar. 

As he approached me, I heard a suppressed giggle 
from Pheby, behind me, and when "dat nartist'^ removed 
a dingy, greyish, dirty cloth, suggestive of a possibility 
of having once been white, a long time ago; and proudly 
pulled out and held up two dirty vials filled with a muddy- 
looking fluid, Pheby 's giggling was no longer sup- 
pressed, but gave place to laughter, shaking my chair 
withal, thus disgraciuLT all the years' training of politeness 
and courtesy I had striven to impress on that obtuse 
Ethiopian handmaiden ! 

As for myself I was too amazed — too indignant to 



134 

speak, or even to ]an<j^h. ''Dat nartis^ " brazen effrontery 
and shrewd deception dazed me for a moment. Finally, 
summoning all the friij^idity and contempt my nature was 
capable of, I screamed out, 

And, is this your important^ individual business, with 
me?" 

Not in the least abashed, my tormentor, with much 
chic, replied: 

"These are my Art materials, ma'am. I'm an Artist! 
If you have any furniture, no matter how fine, or old, 
that's broken, ruined, or scratched, or defaced, one appli- 
cation of this Art material will make it good as new. ' 

"Exciise me, sir, said I. With all your brass and de- 
ception, I must thank you for one thin^?. No other 
tramp, or agent, or beggar, or impostor, has ever yet, 
previously resorted to your ruse — imporlant business.' 
You have duped me. and my servant, but it will never 
occur again. After //iix, we are prepared for any out- 
rageous imposition, and will never be duped, similarly 
again." 

With these words, I withdrew to the rear of the hall, 
while Pheby involuntarily walked square up, confront- 
ing "dat Artis" and family with these indignant words: 

"Look er here, white folks! you sho mus' be er gwine 
on, now. My miss is got lots uv pashuns, but I be- 
switched. ef you all aint 'nuff to make ole Job cuss ef he 
wuz here — 'er nartis.' Yes, you's one, mebbe! you 
varmint uv er eel lookin' white man, ez you is." (There 
was a large tapestry painting on a panel in the hall, 
representing Robert Burns and Highland Mary. Pheby, 
invariably called it Robert Lee and Mary, by a slight 
mistake. Glancing at it, now, she angrily exclaimed, 
her Ethiopian liberal lips curled in scorn, and her voice 
drawling out the words in a nasal twang): 

"You er 'Nartis/^ I reckin you is! 'Fore gracious, 
when you sont my miss word, I thinks to myself, en' 
when you stepped so pui^t like to de v'rander, to git dtm 
'terials, I makes sho, sez I: Now, dat nartis, wid his fine 
picters, is sho gwine turn down all my Miss Gerald ine's 



135 

paintins', ^cludin^ Robert Lee en Mary! en den white 
man, you vile 'poster, ez you is, when you fotch in dat 
ole dirty rag* en barsket, en had de 'shuranee to onkiver 
two nasty vials of nuthin' scepin' muddy branch water/ 
Get out dis house, I say, dis minute! Ef I only had 
dem 'vials of wrath' what St. Moses 'forms us, is gwine 
to be poured out on de wicked, I'd dash 'em on you now. 
I wouldn't, en couldn't wait for de las' day of jestice. 
I'd jes' hordshushly consume you, wid 'em, dis minit, 
soon ez I could git your pisened body outen dis here 
house! Three minits, indeed/ you lyin' varmint! I'se 
listened good, en I haint hyeerd you tell a single trufe 
yit, I haint! Lawd knows, you'se come nigher enter- 
tainin' my miss fum her work er half hour, den, jes' 
three minits/ Git out, I say!" 

As Pheby stood directly in the front doorway while 
delivering her stirring oration, thus effectually barri- 
cading, unconsciously, "dat nartis" and family's egress, 
those interesting persons, that charming trio stood await- 
ing Pheby's removing the formidable obstacle (her form), 
the young woman still holding the baby, who with wide- 
open, observant eyes, was staring hard at Robert Lee 
and Mary, doubtless feeling an embryo inspiration of a 
coming genius, to be developed in maturity into a pro- 
fession, master of which the young aspirant would event- 
ually wear the laurels of his ^^a^er familias, and be 
dubbed "dat nartis " 

Finally, it slowly dawned on Pheby's obtuseness that 
she was impeding their exit. She moved aside, com- 
manding them, "Go out!" and as they passively obeyed, 
Pheby watched them until they had passed through the 
gate, saying: 

"Now, Nartis, I 'vises you to git anuder chorus sepitV 
I ivas a tryin^ to git my wife to my wife^s father. Lawd 
knows, I'se tired of dat, sho. Git a new tune, nartis, 
for gracious' sake — ef hits nuthin' but *De ole cow she 
cross de road,' or even, 'Grasshopper settin' on a sweet 
'tater vine.' Dem is sholy m,o interesting den sayin' over 
en over agin, 'twell a body feels like pins is er stickin' 



136 

*em, 'I was a try in' to git my wife to my wife's father.'" 
I stood there laughing, now that it was all over, feel- 
ing I had my revenge in full compensation for the annoy- 
ance of the imposter. 

"Miss," said Pheby, "I'se done onravelled de myst'ry 
of 'dat nartis.' Dat er 'oman is some po gal he is desaved, 
en he wants to git her en dat ar baby back to de ole man, 
en den /le'.s- gwine stial away, all unbeknown'st to 'em 
all. Ef you 'member. Miss, dat nartis nuber wunced 
stated whar he wus er tryin' to git hissef ter, he didnH. 
Ef he tells many mo sich lies ez he's fooled dis nigger 
wid, en he gits his serts (deserts), hit's my 'pinion he'll 
land in torment, where he sho do 'long! Er Nartis! I do 
say de word!" 



LITTLE CHILDREN. 

God bless them, every one — girls and boys — pretty 
and homely, good and bad, rich and poor, white and 
black, bond and free! They are the oases in the deserts 
of life; flowers in a thorny wilderness; music in a harsh, 
discordant world; the blue sky, through storm-clouds; 
pearls amid the dross of the wayside; sunshine in C(-ld, 
dark wintry weather; brightest companions in our joys; 
sweetest solace in our griefs; divinest inspiration in a 
world of mammon-worship and hard selfishness. How 
inestimable is the debt we owe them, and how far we 
should always be from forgetting that they are not 
responsible for being here, in this strange, unjust battle- 
ground of life, and hence we should bear with them in 
all their remissness, and forgive all their transgressions. 
They are the rainbows after the storm; butterflies of 
Heavenly daintiness in the blushing rose-beds, and lilies' 
snowy petals. 

How often, when enjoying the exquisite presence of a 
charming little child, have I wished vainly that I might 
keep it always an innocent fondling! How I regret to 
see the babyhood slipping away from the kissable darlings, 
the dawning of the self-conscious hoy! I simply adore 



137 

the big. fluffy, snow-ruffled collarette of the tiny boy in 
' kilts," or knee pants. And, oh ! with what dread I 
apprehend the first doffing of the same — to make place 
for the appearance of the man's attire — long pants and 
standing-collar! The first time my own little beautiful 
boy was decked in his first man's imitation suit, and 
came into my presence, with his self-assertive, conscious, 
strutting, peacock manners, a consternation seized my 
being and I could not, for my life, answer the eager, 
upturned, questioning look on his beautiful face, as He 
still stood near, waiting for my compliments — waiting 
for me to say, 'How lovely, a\y little man!^'' But I 
could not, the words died in my throat. In my agony I 
was reflecting that my hahy boy had merged into boyhood, 
and the baby was gone forever! 

"Well, Mignonne," said his clear, silvery voice, "You 
seem to be blind, to-day! Didn't you notice any diff'er- 
ence in me?" 

It had come! Triumphant in his little standing-collar 
and appropriate tie, he was all unconscious of my tender 
regrets! With dry eyes, but choking breath — a forced 
smile on my lips — I snatched him up, folding ray arms 
tightly around him, and in a strangely-sounding voice 
tried to say the words he so longed to hear. 

Thank God, for little children! If ever I am fortunate 
enough, when life is over, to enter Eden's pearly gates, 
I pray my Heavenly Father to appoint me superintendent 
of the whole domain of the creche! 



DAT CHICKEN DIED WID DE KOLERY. 

It was on the eve of my departure for a visit to the 
World's Fair at Chicago. Calling up my servant, an 
old darkey woman, said, I: "Pheby, I shall leave so 
very early to-morrow morning, you must prepare my 
breakfast to-night, all except the coffee." 

"Take this change," said I, "g«> out and purchase me a 
large frying size pullet, fry it deliciously, as you know 
how to do, and put it in my luncheon basket with the 



138 

beaten biscuits and other refreshments, and have every- 
thing ready. Call me at 5 o'clock to-morrow morning, 
bringing the coffee when you summon me It will be 
the last fried chicken and beaten biscuit I'll see, Pheby, 
until I return from Yankeedom." 

"Yes, Missus, I'll be on time, and have ebery thing 
cooked right. I hyear em say dem sateful Yankees neber 
seed no decent cookin', nor eber mixed wid any decent 
white folks, 'twill dey kums Souf, mongst 1/4.7" 

Bidding me good night my sable maid left me. Next 
morning she summoned me promptly, bringing with her 
a cup of delicious cafe noir, and the breast of a fried 
chicken and biscuits. 

" How refreshing," I said, "and the chicken is perfect. 
It is so much larger than I expected, as you told me a 
day or so ago, there were only broiling size ones to be 
procured around here, now." Pheby gave a low signifi- 
cant chuckle. "Humph, Miss, en I tole you de trufe, too, 
dere haint no full size ones to be got round hyere. Dis is 
Kris's pe^ pullet — dat un he thinks such a powerful sight 
on — en ef he kjus to fine out I had kilt dat darlin' 
chicken uv his'n — well, 'twould about be time I was a 
preparin' for journey to de graveyard, Mun, hit would. 
You see, diH^n is de only one what's big full size. Didn't 
you hyear a powerful racket in de back yard dis mornin' 
'bout daybreak? Well 'twas Kris, a cussin' en er gwine 
on 'bout dis hyere same pullet, but I'se fixed it all right, 
an quoUed that mendacious African at last You see, dis 
is how it was: Yistidy mornin' when Kris fed his 
chickens, dis h3'ere pullet was a prancin' en croonin' en 
friskin' roun' like a young gal fixin' de table fo de log 
rollin', looking 'sheep-eyed' at dat game rooster, fur all 
de world, Kris said, I usen to, Missus, when / wus a 
courtin' him — de insurance uv dat nigger is 'posterous, 
shor 

Well! so, den, dis mornin' when he called de chickens, 
his pet pullet wus a missin', en no wonder neder, fu I 
had sholy kotch dat frisky jade, picked, fried and cooped 
her safely, fur de las' time, in dat lunch basket to travel 



139 

on to de Fair." (Here Pheby chuckled with evident 
exultant pride;. 

So ez I vvus a gwine on to lorate to you, Miss, when 
Kris misses de pullet, he turn right straight to me, in 
course] hit's a habit uv his'n I've never yit been able to 
break dat African fum, durin' all dese forty years I'se 
been fool enough to wait on en sarve him; so turnin', ez 
I sez, to me, as usiale, sez he, 'Ole 'oman, whar''s my pet 
pullet?' Miss, right dar at dat tickler pint Kris looked so 
straight into my very eyes, dat fur a minit sez I to 
myself, .s7io, Kris must er seed me kill dat pullet; but den 
I 'lected, no, he couldn't had er seen me, kase I 'members, 
sho, he did not git home fum de liel 'twill dem prep'ra- 
tions in dat stove wus done. So, den, I feels bole en 
good, en 87io-like agin, en I looked des ez straight den 
into Kris' eyes, en sez I, 'pun de spot right dar, wid him 
a star-gazin' into my eyes en me er star-gazin' into 
hisin, 'Kris,' sez I, 'you's got leetle to do, 'pears to me, 
leetle to do, to cum er axin en er scusin' me uv knowin' 
what's cum uv dat cacklin' huzzy uv a pullet. Gawd 
knowslhaint done nuthin' to your tarnal pet pullet.' 
Suddently, Miss, de sweet black angels 'spires me wid a 
idee— a idee what I felt would make dat nigger shet his 
mouf and stop his gashiatin' en cussin'. So I sez, 'Kris, 
what pullet you mean? You haint a furrin' to dat brown 
pullet, is you?' 'Dat very brown pullet, ole 'oman; how 
in de yairth could you er thunk I didnH mean dat same 
pullet?" 

"Kaze, sez I, I thought you knowed Kris, dat dat 
pullet died ivid de koleryp^ 

"Miss, sJio hit 'pearedlike Kris would 'bout faint when 
dat 'formation struck his 3^ears." 

"Ef I had er thunk any less uv you, Miss, I'd been 
sorter sorry fur Kris. Sez he, 'Died wid de kolery ? 
Why, ole 'oman, dey neber has a chicken died wid dat 
pistiferous, ketchin' disease 'mong varments sencel'sbeen 
tendiu' em myself. What good do it do for Miss Geral- 
dine to walk so piert over dis hyere place ebey week, en 
me follerin' 'roun' arter her, lookin' for some spot, or 



140 

some hof^ or chicken trof, makin' me put lime here, 
coperas dere, to keep ebery thing clean en healthy; en 
arter all dat carrin' on, en 'spense, fur me to hev my pet 
pullet die wid de kolery so suddently?" 

"You look er hyere, Kris, sez I, I'se tired uv all dis 
argufyin, I is." 

"Taint no kolery no where's 'tall roun" — Kris grins 
again. "Jes let me ax you one question," sez I, "you 
thick-headed African, en I wants dat to satisfy you, en 
make you shet your mouf — er cussin' en er gwine on so 
'bout one dead chicken, when de yard's full uv nice, live 
ones. Ef you don't shet up swarin' so right mendaciously 
in de very face of de Almighty, dont mind He'll sen' dem 
plages of Egypt on you, en de locuses will eat supp'n in 
dis yard sides wild honey, en de frogs wont leave you 
standin', nor settin', nor sleepin' room — much leasenere 
all des chickins. Shet up, Kris, fo de locuses comes en 
eats des live chickens, en if you 'scapes dat, en den—ef 
you don't shet up you'll be whar Dives is, en when you 
can't get no mo water en he's got all des years, you'll 
sho think den, hits better to do douten one ole pullet den 
to do douten one single drap uv water! 

You will mun, I tell you nigger. Now shet up! dis 
minute, and let des one question I'm gwine to ax you, 
settle all dis argurfyin, and shew you de salvation of de 
Lord. Kris, tell me dis: Didn't Mr. Blake go to town day 
foe yestidy, to his bizness, jest as well as ever he wus?" 
"Yes." "Well in course, you knows he did, en didn't 
dey bring him home dead dat very day?" "In course dey 
did." Well, den Kris heve some sense, en be cornvinced, 
when I shores you, dat dat\s de way wid de chicken kol- 
ery. Yistidy your pet pullet wus live en well, today, 
she's dead." Wid dat strong argufying, I quoited and 
cornvinced him, en he et his brekfus en went 'long to de 
fiel, but ez he went outen de gate I hyears him say to 
his sef: "Hits bleeged to be like Pheby sez. I'se never 
knowed her to desave me 'bout nuthin, all dese forty 
years, but hits powerful s-t-r-a-n-g-e!" 

"Miss Geraldine, I neber wus so glad to see dat 



141 

'tarnal nigger go out en shet de gate behind him, en mos 
shet his big mouf, in my life as I was dis mornin.' " 

It suddenly occurred to me how often some of my own 
chickens had, all at once, mysteriously disappeared; but 
I remembered that "silence is golden"'sometimes. This, 
I felt, was surely one of the times. It was no use in pro- 
testing when Pheby started out with the corollary, "Dat 
chicken died wid de kolery." Blackstone, and all his 
honorable colleagues and successors, could never have 
offered more incontrovertible arguments, and none, I'm 
sure, could ever have approximated to Pheby's absolute 
sanp; fr^oid of word and manner. 

"Pheby," said I, "you have done very wrong; you 
have taken what was not yours, and besides you have 
deceived your husband. These are grave offences. If 
I give you a quarter to give to Kris as remuneration for 
his pullet, will you give it to him? If so, I will gladly 
do so." 

"Now, Miss Geraldine, I gwine tell you de trufe, 'fore 
Gawd. I haint gwine tell anuder lie, en me en you jes^ 
'bout to part, at dat. No, Miss Geraldine, I won^t. jes' 
shore aze you sends dat quarter to Kris, I'se gwine git 
me sum ^backer wid hit — I is." 

It was quite evident that all attempts at convincing 
the intractable Pheby, of elucidating to her the double 
error she had been guilty of, viz., defrauding old Kris of 
his pet, and deceiving him as to the manner of that inno- 
cent fowl's demise. She took the waiter and dishes, 
retiring through the door, with the words: "No, I'll not 
'sturb dat African no mo; now I'se got him quoit on 
dis present subjec', des let him keep on b'levin', just as 
sartain as faith, dat dat chicken died wid de kolery." 



AUNT RIA'S FIRST SOCIAL CALL FROM DE 
WHITE GEMMAN EN DE WHITE LADY. 

Personal resemblances, occasioning mistaken identity, 
are the sources of tragic and comic consequences. In 
what I shall here relate, a comic scene ensued: 



142 

On a bright sunny afternoon, I left home to call on a 
neighbor, and not deeming it of sufficient importance to 
mention my absence, closed the front door, and had 
started out, when a friend met me, saying: "I was 
coming in, but as you are going out, I'll come another 
time. Here is the second volume of that book I promised, 
and if you will excuse me, I'll go on, as I have a press- 
ing engagement — came more to bring the book this time, 
really than to call." That changed my plans — the book 
just brought me, I was longing to read, so I re-entered 
my front door, and decided to spend the afternoon with 
my volume of wisdom and beauty, instead of making a 
visit. Meantime, my lady friend, who was considered 
so strongly to resemble me, took her departure. 

I retired to my library, doffed my hat, and was soon 
enjoying the reading of my treasure. 

All at once, I heard voices in my rear yard, the nasal 
sound, and pronunciation informed me correctly, that a 
yankee man and woman were there, talking with my old 
darkey. Aunt Ria. I thought these proceedings rather 
strange — certainly unconventional in Southern neigh- 
borhoods, to say the least, but, concluded I would re- 
main quiet, and unseen, unless called for. After an 
hour's visitation these mellifluous voiced "down-easters" 
departed. It was still, comparatively early in the after- 
noon, so I remained still undisturbed, reading. 

Finally, about sunset, I came out in the flower gar- 
den, and was strolling around amid its myriad sweets, 
when old Aunt Ria joined me saying, very ecstatically: 
"Well Miss, suppin's happened to your ole nigger, dis 
day, what is nuver happened to her afore." 

Instantly diviaing the true situation, and substance of 
the revelations about to be made me, I quietly remarked: 
"Well Ria, what is it?" 

Clapping her hands together, simultaneously while 
jumping lightly up and down, and with a countenance 
radiant, and jubilant with exultant joy, the old darkey 
eagerly, and rapidly ejaculated: 



143 

Miss, de white gemman, en de white lady, is at las' 
called on your ole nigger. 

I never thunk to see it. I'se hyeard un it, en dream't 
un it ever sence the 'mancipation en de Wilson raiders, 
when dey cum thew here, promised us dis, but I had 
'bout gin it out, like I 'is dat promise of dern, uv dem 
forty acres uv Ian' en dat mule. iVary nigger is ever 
got dat Ian' en mule yit. I done quit lookin' fur it, I is; 
but mebbe now, sence de white gemman, en de white 
lady, is shonuf called, dis blessed day, on dis ole nigger, 
mabbe noio de Ian', en de mule, will cum 'long, too." 

(At prospect of the verilication of such paradisaical 
visions, Ria's clapping of hands together, and up and 
down motion, cleaving and jumping from the ground 
alternately, increased, as she said :) 

"Miss, 1 haint been so happy, I haint felt so nigh 
Heaven since long time ago, when I 'come thew! at the 
Campmeetin' in Hog Waller.'" 

Realizing that things around my premises might 
assume a somewhat serious aspect, as to color and 
equality, under Ria's new dispensation of received social 
distinctinctions, I silently "put on my whole armor" of 
what I deemed wise demeanor and finesse, and said : 

"What did your yankee visitors do and say, Ria, tell 
me about it?" 

"Well, Miss, when I fust seed 'em, er comin' in to de 
back yard, 'stid uv de front, sez I, to myself, dey sholy 
knows I aint white, I recon dey des want some water, 
en couldn't git no hyerin at the front do. Spec Miss 
mus sholy be sleep, or gone out some whar, but what 
susprised me wus dey didn't onced ax for you, Miss. I 
say, sez I, Mr. Foxy en Mrs. Foxy, will you hev a 
cheer? handin' dem a split-bottom cheer apece. az I axed 
'em, still er listenin' out for 'em to say, 'Ria, is your 
Miss at home?' " 

"But ef you b'leve dis nigger. Miss (clapping and 
jumping, again becoming accelerated), dey still nuver 
onced axed fur you, nur never did even ax if you wus in 
de house. (Ria did not know, as I intuitively did, that 



144 

these yankees had seen my friend leave my gate and go 
out, and mistook her for myself, on account of the resem- 
blance between us). Stid of dat, dey said to me, 'Mrs. 
Maria Jenks is your name, I believe, my good lady, is it 
not?' " 

"Den, Miss, I gins to feel sorter shame, ur suppin' so. 
I dunno why, but I sorter stuttered en said a curtesyin. 

"Not zackly, dear gemman en lady; dey mostly calls 
me Ria Jinks, en sum on de culud folks sez Mrs. Jinks, 
but you two knows what's right, in course. / kaint 
read.' 'My pore, good 'oman,' dey said den, Miss, 'We's 
gwine to try to larn you before long; here is a trac, a 
'ligious trac, we fotch you.' ("Dat aint der purty lan- 
guage. Miss, but you knows how kreckly dey pernounces; 
I des has to say it my way, but I'se sho er tellin' you 
zackly what de segashiashur meant). 

"Den dey call me up side um en sez, 'Dear Mrs. 
Jenks — dey did, mun — come hyere, en look at these 
purty picturs. I dessay you is nuver seed the picters of 
any black Angels?' 

"Miss, I nuver had seen none but ivhite uns, en my 
heart gin a big thump, hit did, when I look over der 
shoulders at de book, and sho nuf, I sees a black Angel, 
wid raving jet wings of long feathers, en I could scacely 
hep shoutin'. 

"Den dey said: 'Mrs. Jenks, we b'leve you, with your 
black skin, is jes as good ez your missis, en all dese 
yuther white uns of de Souf; en de black Angels purty 
ez de white uns.' " 

"How long did your yankee visitors remain, Ria," I 
inquired, thinking she had talked too long already. 

"Well, Miss, jis 'bout ez long as de quality ladies what 
cums to call on you, wid de kyards — jis 'bout." 

"And did they sell you the book of black Angels, Ria, 
or give it to you, or carry it with them?" 

"Well, dey lef it; hit's in my house. I axed em if 
dey had gin it to me, en dey 'low, lookin' at one nudder, 
'Yes, dear Mrs. Jenks, we give it you on sartain kindi- 



145 

tions nv futur siderations,^ ef you knows what dem 
blessed en purty words means — blest ef /knows." 

Beginning to realize now that unless I asserted my 
authority and supremacy at once, it might soon be too 
late for "moral suasion" to achieve its effect, I stepped 
nearer old Ria, and, looking her steadfastly in the eyes, 
said I: 

" Now, Ria, listen to me, pay attention, and take heed: 
These yankees thought 1 was absent. They never once 
came to the front door. They have really called on you 
as their equals. I have heard these things are custoniary 
in Yankeedom, among the lower classes of whites. But 
listeji well, Ria, you are never to return this social 
call; nor ever again to receive them, or allow them to 
enter my rear yard, under penalty of yourself being 
banished forever from my premises." 
Ria evinced genuine amazement. 
"Yes, Miss, in course,''^ she said. 

"And they told you, Southerners — white folks— were 
no better than you. But listen, again, Ria: God made 
you and I both — that is true. He made all nations, and 
all things, but see how differently He made white and 
black folks. 

" He made you black, did he not?" 
" Yes, ma'am !" 
" And me, white?" 
"Yes, ma'am I" 

"And gave me straight, smooth, soft hair, and made 
your hair kinky ?" 

" Oh, yes, ma'am, dats bleeged to be true, sho !" 
" And He made me free, and you were set free by the 
yankees when their envy, hate and malice could no longer 
brook our wealth and prosperity?" 
" I'se hyeard dat's so, too. Miss!" 

"And Ria, was there any property awaiting you, 
when you arrived in this world?" 

"None, as I'se eber hyen tell uv, Miss?" 
"Well, Ria, you and 1 were born different in that respect 
also, for there were great preparations made to celebrate 

(6e) 



146 

my first birthday — beautiful clothing, a lovely home, 
lands, and slaves, etc., all ready for me, when I came. 
Now if you came into the world in utter poverty and 
slavery, and God had already issued the Decalogue, one 
of whose commandments is: 'Thou shalt not steal' — 
that commandment written for the obedience of every 
human, who ever has, or ever shall in all future years 
arrive into this world — then God has commanded you 
not to steal, has He not? Why, most assuredly you 
understand that. There were no means of education 
awaiting you, either, but there were for me? 

"So, then, if He made me white and i/ou black; me 
with straight hair; you with kinky; me born in freedom; 
you in abject slavery; me rich and you poor; me your 
superior in every conceivable thing, and entirely differ- 
ent from you, then you cannot possibly, in even the 
smallest detail be my equal; and, if God gave you noth- 
ing but your being and told you not to steal, and did not 
command you to beg, but did most positively command 
you to work, therefore, all these things being facta, and 
as long as you live on my place — in the cottage I own — 
and work for me, according to our mutual contract, 
although, the laws consider, and call you free, as long as 
I pay you for your services, and I am white and you are 
black — Ria, always remember, / am your mistress, and 
you are my nigger, regardless of all the white gemman 
Yankee Foxys and the white lady Yankee Foxys; and 
the very first time you receive a visit from any yankee, 
in my rear yard, or say one word to me of their calling 
you my equal, you will be banished from my presence, 
and from my premises forever, just as effectually as 
Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden, and all the 
yankee books of all the black angels will be powerless to 
obtain an entrance -here again. Remember Ria, you 
will always be my nigger as long as you live here, and I 
pay you." 

Whether thoroughly convinced, I cannot vouch, but 
old black Ria quietly responded: "Yes, Miss — I knows 
it — in course I is." I had won the victory. 



147 

A TRIP TO ST. SIMONS ISLAND — MANY 
INTERESTING EXPERIENCES. 

Leaving Brunswick on the Ijoat Eginont, sailing down 
the Oglethorpe river a distance of twelve miles, over 
smooth, shining waves, along beautiful scenery of grass- 
covered islands and shores of glimpses of houses and 
trees — an hour's delightful sailing brings us to lovely St. 
Simons. Then taking a street car, iu a few moments 
reach the Hotel St. Simons, situated very near the beach, 
and at present in charge of our obliging host and his 
gracious, agreeable wife, our hostess — Mr. and Mrs. 

C D . All the way as we approach we are 

impressed with the pureness, lightness, freshness, deli- 
ciousness of the air — a constant sea breeze wooing us to 
absolute restfulness, so greatly needed in summer. There 
are a number of cottages for boarders, besides the spacious 
hotel — accommodations for many, whether invalids or 
pleasure-seekers. A broad, grassy, green sward in front 
of the hotel is beautiful — with spraying fountains dotted 
here and there; with groups of merry, romping children, 
and promenades, for belles and bi^au.s, leads immediately 
down to the smooth, broad, white, beautiful beach — where, 
seating one's self, we are greeted by the fresh salty, inspir- 
ing breath of the great boundless sea. How inex- 
pressibly weird, lovely, beautiful, the low plaintive 
chants and sublime anthems sung by those sea-green 
waves and white capped surges! Truly do we realize 
the aptness of little Florence Dombey's reply to dear 
Paul, when she said, " 'Tis the voice of the Great Creator." 
Never do we feel His wondrous creative power. His 
vast infinity, His sublimity displayed, as when by the 
"sad sea waves," instinctively we murmur the exquisite 
poem of Bishop Keble : 

" Why should we faint and fear to live al >ne? 

Since all alone, so Heaven has willrd, wc die ; 
And not the tenderest heart and nt-xt our own, 
Knows half the reasons, why we smile or sigh." 
We cannot know whether the many beautiful flower- 
gardens, described so vividly by Talmage, all grow 



148 

beneath the sea, far, far down from mortal eye; but we 
do know that while resting beside these smooth waters, 
thinking of the many lives, the beautiful lives, that have 
sank beneath some cruel wreck at sea, that Keble's soul- 
composing lines are sadly, but beautifully, appropriate : 

"While clinging ever to ray Father's breast, 
In perfect rest !" 

Viewed in the glow of the sunlight, these flashing 
waves, ever restless, ever changing, resemble millions of 
starry kaleidoscopic gems in their incandescent sparkles. 
Over the waves are gliding great steamers, light sail 
boats, skiffs, fishing boats, crabbing boats, tiny 
canoes, and as the beautiful shadows fall night 
comes on. Old Neptune, as for further contravSt, 
o'er the realms, holds dark, frowning sway, mighty in 
its bleakness, vastness and majesty, but not so attractive 
to us as in the light of day. A three minutes' walk 
brings us to the alluring surf of whose delightful baths 
no pen or word may justly tell, for it must be seen and 
felt to be rightly understood and appreciated, and worth 
to the bather's benefit all the fresh-water baths combined. 
The very necessity for meeting the surf, and "holding 
one's own" against splashing wave, is in itself bracing 
and strengthening. The warm delightful temperature 
heated by the life-giving sun, the warm grateful feeling of 
the whole physical system, the healthy glow pervading 
the entire body, the rapid reaction render surf bathing 
too enjoyable to describe. 

And then the charming drive on the beach, and 
through the surf, involuntarily reminded me of George 
McDonald's vivid description of Malcolm's frequent sea- 
plungings as he so often rode the demon horse, Kelpie, 
down into the surf calming the brute's fiery frenzy, with 
a magic power nothing else could do. A surrey drive 
along another road, literally hedged on either side by fra- 
grant myrtle and blooming bays, environing acres and 
acres of thickly studded palmetto. A very carpet of this 
beautiful growth, great deep forests which seem never to 
have been trodden by human foot. Truly, Diana must 



149 

have held high court amid these magnificent trees, 
mosses, ferns, pahnetto and rippling streamlets. We 
pass a lovely rural cemetery in which stands a quaint 
rustic church, and many grave-stones. The whole liter- 
ally canopied with great gnarled magnificent oaks verily 
veiled, in a wilderness of long grey mourning moss. Ah! 
how weirdly, plaintively, lovely — on and on. We arrive 
at the antique villa of historic Frederica, where Gen. Ogle- 
thorpe held the Spaniards at bay. The old canon 
armory still remains in a dilapidated condition. The 
dwelling is still kept in repairs and is occupied. A flower 
garden in front is overrun with thick clustering trees of 
lemons, oranges, hanging with fruit. Great beds of 
wild heliotrope and lantana trail over the ground, and 
the finest Sago Palms imaginable. One was six feet 
high, and the lady occupant of the place told us it was 
twenty-five years old. The same kind of beautiful moss- 
draped oaks overhead and all around as far as eye could 
see. As we stood on the grounds by the old armory a 
lovely boat glided by on the rippling waves bound for 
Savannah leaving the loveliest shining whiteness along 
her way. Returning to our hotel many small farms of 
corn, cotton and watermelons were seen. Our drive also 
led us by "Kings' Retreat," the former summer residence 
of Hon. T. Butler King and family. 

It now resembles more a cemetery than dwelling, 
whose ancestral halls once resounded with laughter and 
dancing and music, where were wont to assemble the 
wealth and beauty and chivalry of the land. As we 
drove along the broad, stately avenue o'er-arched with 
moss-hung oaks, we involuntarily repeated some strains 
from Ossian. As we neared the Hotel Simons, driving 
on the beautiful beach, we witnessed the loveliest drifts 
of snowy, fealhery sand— literally around and under our 
vehicle, all along our way in front, drifting, floating, 
finer, softer, lighter than snow, than fairy's dream, yet 
not one grain of sand alighted in our faces or eyes. It 
was simply v/onderful, like a misty, ineffable dream of 
exquisite beauty. As we reach our hotel, strains of 



150 

delightful music, "discoursed" sweetly by the baud, 
pianist, flutist, violinist, greet our delighted ear. Such 
gentlemanly musicians playing morn, noon and night 
until the "wee small hours," to whose inspiring strains 
light feet trip tuneful time, pay full devotion to light- 
some terpsichore. We met many pleasant people from 
many places. The fare of the table is excellent and 
abundant, and those fond of turtles and crabs can here 
feast royally. We saw one of the huge, live turtles, 
weighing between three and four hundred pounds. A 
charming little tot, a brunette girl, the daughter of the 
well-bred pianist, and his wife sat near me at the table, 
and somewhat resembles my beautiful four-year-old girl 
baby, of Columbus, whose presence, with that of my 
silver-tongued baby boy, was all we needed to make St. 
Simon a perfect Paradise. "Oh," now you say, "you 
are over-drawing this island, you are borrowing from 
your poetic, enthusiastic imagination. If I go there I 
can't find all this." My friend, I protest. I am greatly 
under-drawing everything. One may go into a beautiful 
flower garden seeking a thorn; well, one will be sure 
to find it! But one who goes into a garden seeking a rose 
or lily will be sure to find that, also. If you fail to dis- 
cover all we have told you about St. Simons, and more, 
infinitely more, we will only say this, that the want lies 
in your own heart. 

Of course, at all Summer resorts you will meet the 
typical "growler," but he or she usually belong to the 
par venues — the snobocracy — who go to such places not 
for rest or improvement, but simply for effect. They are 
people usuall}^ with shallow brains and little liearts. Pity 
them! They do not know any better than to complain. 
It is the true aristocrat — true by birth, breeding, rear- 
ing, who has been accustomed to the "best" from great, 
great, great grandparents, who are least exacting of car 
drivers, conductors, hotel-keepers, servants, &c. This 
may seem strange to you, but it is truth. 

How reluctantly we left this beautiful, enchanted Isle! 
We went there to find some absolute rest, bestowed by 



151 

the boundless sea, and surf-bathing. We found that and 
more besides. 

Having met there among the many pleasant guests 
some charming Brunswickians— so well bred and ele- 
gant—we were greatly surprised on our homeward jour- 
ney to find, while awaiting the train in Brunswick, that 
there were no street cars of any description in this beau- 
tiful city, and no "waiting room" at the depot, with such 
a lovely City Hall, Park, majestic Square, its 0-lethorpe 
Hotel, elegant private residences, gardens, &c. It is 
passing strange. Such a time as we had with a porter! 

In the first place they all had a dazed, experienced 
look about them— combined with this there seemed an 
utter disinclination for a "job"— a lazy, don't-care, 
thriftless appearance they presented. 

I had been "doing" the city au pied, as I had several 
hours to wait for the Columbus train, and, as before said, 
there being an absence ol any street car, after concen- 
trating and collecting my various packages of souvenir 
shells, mosses, etc, I engaged a porter for a stipu- 
lated price— fixed by himself, to which I agreed— 
for which consideration he was to accompany me, 
carrying my valise and packages, to the 'depot! 
We trudged along a considerable distance, until 
within about one-quarter of a mile to our destination, 
when he suddenly stopped, and to my consternation,' 
struck for higher wages. Now, what was I to do? I 
instantly reflected. Well, this is worse than the Pullman 
porter ? Silence is golden, never more so than when 
traveling. I gave no outward manifestation of my 
inward capprehension; but quietly remarked: "See here, 
porter, this wont begin to do; you have already come 
a long way, and unless you go all the way you forfeit 
your pay; you get nothing. You had better proceed, for 
I shall not add a copper to what we agreed upon. 
I never yield to menial. And unless you do get on 
with these packages to the depot, I will be compelled 
to call a policeman and let you settle it with him, and 



15^ 

you know that policemen are not only the bravest but 
the best men in the world." 

It is needless to say he at once went on his way, joy- 
fully, we all the while uttering an earnest but silent 
invocation for the power of marching him to the tune of 
Dixie to the river brinii and serving the same fate as the 
Hon. John Sands of ancient renown, is reported to have 
allotted his unsuspecting spouse. This same execrable 
porter had already been the means of one of our shell 
packages being misplaced by his over-weening stu- 
pidity, so we paid and dismissed him While sitting 
outside the depot on a pair of broken scales, instead of 
having a nice quiet waiting room, in which to sit, as we 
have in Columbus, footsore and weary, we ruminated 
mentally if Col. Job of Uz had only waited until now, 
he would never have won those laurels for being the 
most patient man. It would certainly have been omitted 
in Bible and Catechism. No man would ever have won 
those honors for they would certainly have been placed 
on the brow of a tired woman tourist that July day in 
Brunswick. If there is ever a new edition of "Fox's 
Book of Martyrs," we claim honorable mention upon its 
unsullied record. And should there ever be a new ad- 
dendum to our Litany, may it read thus: 'Good Lord, 
send Brunswick a waiting room for tourists at her 
depot, and give her a more conscientious porter." How- 
ever we were so delighted to have found our misplaced 
packages of pretty shells that we freely forgave the 
porter. 

Lost in sweet dreams of the magic sea-girt isle of 
St Simons, we were soon speeding, on the Columbus- 
bound train. 

Changing cars at Union Springs, we cannot refrain 
from mentioning the elegant breakfast served there. It 
was more, much more, than we expected at a wayside 
country inn. This house is kept by the Chappells, and 
it was delightfully refreshing. 

The immaculate linen, luscious tomatoes, peaches, de- 
licious light rolls, tender, perfectly cooked steak, eggs, 



153 

etc. A faultless menu, that would have done credit to 
St. Simons itself. In a brief time we reached Home, 
Sweet Home. Dear old Columbus, whose people have 
such golden hearts and loving words that I am proud to 
number many of them as dear, dear friends. 

Long will the sweet memories of St. Simons cluster 
around my heart. "Deo Yolente," hoping to see it again 
at some future day. I reluctantly waft my adieus to 
the beautiful isle. 



TWO INDISPUTABLE REASONS WHY. 

There was once a man to whom the Fates of success in 
any thing, seemed opposed. 

He was not known to have any bad habits. Always 
appeared to have some plan on foot by which he might 
earn an honest livelihood, and yet he always failed. 

I said once to an old Georgia Cracker, speaking of 
the impecunious man referred to, "I wonder ivhy Mr. 

is alvvays so unfortunate in his attempts at any 

thing? He seems to be a temperate, good-hearted 
fellow?" 

"Well," rejoined the Georgia Cracker, "I ken tell you, 
hits fur two reasons: One reason is he haint got no 
sense, en toother reason is he^s a plum fool ! " 



A LITTLE CHILD'S SAYINGS. 

A pious mother whom I knew always tried to inculcate 
the feeling of thankfulness for God's mercies early into 
the hearts of her little ones. On one occasion a little 
boy was sent to answer the door bell. An old lady 
entered and made a brief call. After she had gone, the 
little boy said to his mother : 

"Well, mamma, I am thankful noiv — I thank God he 
did not make me as ugly as he made old Mrs. ." 

A brilliant little girl who dreaded to see Sunday 
arrive, because on that day her mother partially restricted 

(7) 



154 

her in some of her amusements, asked, "How many days 
before Sunday?" 

On being answered, she said: "Well, I'm going to 
move to a city where there is no Sunday." 

Her grand-mamma mildly reproved her, saying: "You 
cannot find such a city, except in heathendom ; you 
ought to love Sunday, because it is the Sabbath of our 
dear Savior! " 

Ignoring this pious advice altogether, the little girl 
immediately replied: "Well, then, I will find me some 
Jeivs, and go and live with the Jews !" 

On another occasion this little girl was allowed to 
accompany her mamma to a "german," to look on the 
dancing and enjoy the band-playing. Being a very close 
observer, and noticing in the society group a very dudish- 
looking, but very dissipated and unhealthy individual 
apparently, the child called her mother's attentien to 
him, saying: "Mamma, that one looks like he is just 
about to turn grey! " 



AN APOSTROPHE. 
"Oh I that mine enemy might write a book ! " 
Job! Thou man of the Land of Uz ! Type of the 
perfect, patient man ! The man who possessed his soul 
by his patience; and in that ownership — in ^/m^ posses- 
sion — richer than in all his vast acres of land, cattle, 
provender, houses, or any other earthly stores. Sweet 
Arabian poet, surrounded by tropical plants and blossoms 
of glory, fanned by spicy breezes, rivaling the pristine 
loveliness of Eden itself! Soft, sweet odors of the 
Eastern clime- — fragrant "Araby, the blest!" I salute 
thee ! Know ! Oh, thou ! Who hast won for all Time 
the immortal laurels as the just reward for the most 
patient of all God's humanity here, that the anathema 
thou didst heap upon the head of thine adversary, •• Oh ! 
that mine eneni}^ would write a book!" would, in this 
Jin de cicle — this nineteenth century — have been only 
an approximation to a light penalty — in truth, almost a 



155 

blessing compared to the more aggravated and intense 
agony consequent upon ''proposing to publish sl book by 
a certain time. 

Col. Job! (I use the title, believing that the Boston 
been-si?ind yankee and "carpet-bagger," have long since 
made their trip to Arabia, even as salamanders burrow, 
and invade every earthly precinct where there is any 
possibility to swindle a white man, or hoodwink a nigger, 
or assert a title.) Presuming some of these sort to 
have reached the neighborhood where your sacred spirit 
still wanders near — presuming that these yankees are 
Goloneled or Majored by the Arabians, even as the 
Georgians obsequeously do, and thereby impressing 
worthy young Southern boys (whose fathers died on the 
battle-field trying to repel the avaricious, brutal yankee 
invader) with the idea that they must pander to, and yield 
their independence — even of thought — to these yankees; 
and are doing only their duty when they help "^to place 
them in positions of authority, while the"^ Southern-born 
reared boys must go begging for work, {without a title) 
feeling that to be a plain, honest Mister is almost a 
disgrace. 

Presuming that if you still existed, in the flesh, rev- 
erend Col. Job! that you, too, would be mortified if 7iot 
addressed by a title, because these yankees are so pan- 
dered to, and win their titles so readily from gullable 
Southerns, therefore, I hail and greet you, Col. Job, of 
the land of Uz, claiming your commiseration for a few 
moments, feeling assured that when you shall have pe- 
rused this Apostrophe to your highly esteemed patient self, 
you must, necessarily, admit the fact, that compared to 
wishing, "Oh! that mine enemy might propose to publish 
a hook, ^' your mild anathama, Colonel, "Oh! that mine 
enemy might iv?Hte a book," is only a blessing entailed 
upon his innocent head — only sugar plums, thick and 
sweet, as those at a Roman carnival, compared to pro- 
posing to publish a book — for. Colonel, ivriting is as 
easy as the breath that comes involuntarily, or the song 



156 

I sing going about my daily housekeeping duties — a 
seemingly unconscious thing. 

Rest peacefully in your stone sarcophagus — if there 
you now reside — or travel over the world in exhibits, 
or pose as an embalmed precious historical mummy in 
some yankee museum — whatever, wherever you are now, 
sweet be your slumbers, congratulating yourself, offering 
devout orisons of grateful ejaculations that you lived in 
those far-gone ages; that you were a man; that all your 
pecuniary and domestic losses returned to you again, 
even while still in the flesh; and above all things, Colonel, 
be thankful that by no possibility can you ever be a lone 
woman living in this nineteenth period, who idiotically 
proposed to publish a book ! 

"Such an one I knew." Not living a thousand miles 
from me, I f«)rmed a passing acquaintanceship with this 
woman. She, having met with so many kindly words of 
encouragement, so many gratuitous overtures to help her 
all they could by way of soliciting contributors to this 
proposed publication, and being of an affectionate, grate- 
ful, appreciative temperament, felt constrained to, and 
did, offer a handsome hand-painted oil painting to the 
person obtaining the largest number of subscribers. 

Shade of the mighty! Symbolic of perfect patience, 
bear with me, and sympathize! Diligently did this woman 
copy, day after day, week after week, page after page, 
for printer's press. 

Looking up from her desk one day, as she sat there at 
her work by the window, she saw a bevy of little girls 
and boys, and several wheelbarrows. Not having ordered 
any, not having the remotest idea of their meaning or 
purpose, the woman arose, went to the front door, and, 
on opening it, said: 

"Good morning, my little dears. What in the world 
do all these wheelbarrows mean?" 

"Well, you see, Madame, we heard you had a great 
many pictures to give away in exchange for old books; 
so w^e've collected all we could at home, and from the 



167 

neighbors around, and brought them here to swap with 
you." 

Explaining politely their mistake, I returned to my 
desk, but scarcely had I resumed my task when the post- 
man's whistle sounded, and in a few moments my servant 
handed me a voluminous mail — one especially unfamiliar 
looking package, being a cedar cigar box, labelled 
''Duke's^ 

"Miss, dat sho is a blunderbuss, haint it? Dey sholy 
kyar'nt be fur you — dem's Segyars haint dey? Lem me 
run quick fur de mail man, en ketch him en gin him dis/o 
you opens it. Some young fool er nudder uv a boy is er 
waitin' fur dese Segyars, I'll bet, munP'' 

"But, Judy, it has my address on it, this box," and 
proceeded to open the same. What was my conster- 
nation to find it full of little blank pieces of paper, accom- 
panied with the following note : 

Esteemed Madame: 

"Having heard that you had ofiFered to paint any- 
thing anybody wanted, if these parties would only buy 
a book you proposed to publish, we, the undersigned, do 
hereby promise to take one copy, jointly between us, our 
Co., provided you w\\\ first draw, paint, deliver by mail 
to our address free, these cards, herein sent you — only 
the small number of one thousand. We require that 
each design shall be entirely original and each different 
from the other. You must expedite the job. Telegraph 
us what day, hour, and minute they will reach us, and 
you must also pa?/ for telegram, at your own expense. 
We beg you will not feel overcome with gratitude, and 
not to waste one second in returning thanks. Philan- 
thropists, like ourselves, are so accustomed to emotional 
ejaculations of thanks rendered us daily for similar be- 
stowals of our favor, that we weary of it, preferring, 
from the 'common herd' of laboring people, like yourself, 
only despatch in business. Please hurry up with our 
Cigarette advertisements!^^ 



158 

"P. S. — Please hurry up, and be sure to remember that 
you foot the expenses of the telegram. 

"Respectfully, Snooks & Co., Agents^ 

Judy, who had remained standing at my elbow, dur- 
ing my perusal of this very edifying communication, 
now asked: 

"En who is de feller, dese hyere kyards is sont to, en 
wharfs de Segyars, I made sho was in dis here sateful 
box?" 

Mildly I replied: "Mr. Snooks, I believe Judy," 
amazed, humiliated, chagrined, blushing at my own pre- 
varication to the unsuspecting dusky Judy, but heartily 
congratulating myself that my Ethiopian inquisitor 
could not read. 

"You can go now," said I. 

She departed, leaving me to pursue my monotonous 
task; but I had not resumed it for more than an hour, 
when I was again interrupted. 

"Miss, dere's er ox-kyart out dar at de lot gate. Er 
white man en 'oman en three leetle chilluns is driv five 
miles, dey sez, fur you ter tick der picters; sez ez how 
dey hyeern you tuck em cheajJ, fur any thing in pay you 
could git. Mus' I open de gate en fotch em in, er is you 
er gwine out dere to dem, Miss? Dey sez dey's in a pow- 
erful hurry, en how you musen keep em waitin' long, 
bein' ez der yej^lin^ is slow, en dey aims to git back 
home, ef dey kin, fo' night." 

Almost desperate, I followed Judy to the kitchen 
porch, in order to rectify the mistake these poor persons 
had made, so as, at least, to prevent a recurrence of similar 
persecutions from others. 

"Judy," said I, "go to the gate and say to them, I'm 
sorry not to be able to oblige them, but its a huge mis- 
take. I have never even thought of advertising that I 
would take pictures cheap — photographs. It is really too 
absurd." 

But the pater familias — the honest ox-driver — had 
evidently heard my and Judy's dialogue. Through the 



159 

gate I saw him rise to his full standing height, and peer- 
ing through the gate apertures from his lowly convey- 
ance, in which were snugly, if roughly, ensconced a 
country woman and three little girls, with rustic toilettes 
of gay cotton goods and gingham sunbonnets. The 
head of the family now saluted me in true backwoods 
provincialism. 

''Yah, lady! I heerd what you said on de porch ter yer 
nigger 'oman, but yer see we'll ha' to pay ef us goes to 
town, en pay money at dat. None uv us is uver had 
our picters tuck, en my ole 'oman en little gals is so pow- 
erful anxious to hev em tuck, en heerin' you had adver- 
tised to tick picters for any thing — provender, or aech 
like — dat havin' no money, I'se fotch you ez fine er 
jjossum ez ye ever seen in all yer lire! Look at him! 
(reaching down and holding up the black-eyed, ugly pris- 
oner, in the coop of slats.) 

"The plot is thickening," (as the freshman porer over 
sensational novels excitedly says) was my mental reflec- 
tion. 

"Now, say lady, canH we trade?" persisted my tor- 
mentor from the ox-cart: "I fotch him, pine blank, jes 
fur tis tickler purpose. Picters is high in town?" 

Appreciating the man's genuine simplicity, and real 
earnestness, I politely explained to him his egregious mis- 
take. I fell forty degrees in his estimation on assuring 
him that 1 never had, andnever could eat 'possum, even in 
ante-bellum times, when that inviting looking quadruped, 
when dressed for the table, ornamented with his appur- 
tenances of red apples, chesnuts and parsly, so often 
served as a favorite dish on Southern plantation boards — 
and bidding the family in the ox-cart, including 'possum, 
and all, a kind adieu, I returned to my desk, only to find 
a man and woman outside, on front verandah, standing 
at the Library window (sash was lowered, fortunately.) 

"What is it, good folks? Can I serve you in any way?" 
said I. 

"Yes'em" — as the unknown party unfolded a small, 
oblong card-board box, displaying to my astounded vision 



160 

a number of newspaper-printed pen advertisements — 
clippings — 

"Lady, we wus tole you wanted ter swap lots uv ole 
books fur des hyeer newspaper pen-picters — en bein' ez 
we is po', en kant read, but wants ter larn how — en 
wants to see ef us, en our chilluns kant larn to «^it 
edicated at home ef us did have some books, fur us aint 
got none — nuther do us tick a paper, but us made bole to 
see ef de rich town-folks would hep us, en dey is gin U3 
all dese. (See!) Dey calls des un de Founting pen, en 
dis yuther un dey calls de Spenseran pen !" Now, how 
many books is you gwine to swap us fur all dese hyeer 
pen-picters? Hit tuck lots uv time to git em all up !" 

Utterly dazed, but not yet altogether and absolutely 
speechless, I replied : 

"Please inform me what earthly use do you — does any 
one not a natural-l)orn siniplcton — supposel could /^o.s\S'i6/// 
convert these advertisements into? I cim not ivuigine, 
in the faintest degree I" 

"Why,, to paint, en den sell 'em. Lady, in course-^ 
dat's whut de town folks tole ug, ma'am, en sholy you is 
not gwine to 'low us to lose all de time we spent en er 
gittin' uv um up. en er coming hyere too?" 

"I am sorry you have lost anything by me," (said I, 
for the faces of these honest })ersons were growing lugu- 
brious in the extreme), ))ut [ really could never have 
imagined that any one could make such mistakes, I 
have a little cold bread and cake in the house, and I can 
make you a cup of coffee, if you like, for you look tired, 
but it is utterly impossible for me to exchange angthing 
for your pen advertisements. 

"I'll give you some refreshments, if you like, for you 
look weary.'' 

But another surprise awaited me, for at this juncture, 
my tormentors grew suddenly angry, scowling at me 
fiercely, and saying: 

"We won't have yer ole tarnal bread en cake, ner 
cotfy nuther. Beswitched ef us will. Come 'long Nancy," 
said the ole man; "let's shake dis hyeer dus' fum oti'en 



161 

our feets, en be er gwine on; dat's de way dese hyeer 
high-minded rich folks allers treats de po.' " 

"Yes," replied Xancy, "en all our time on dese 'pen 
picters is loss. Let's go on back to de cotton patch, en 
nuver trus^ rich folks agin — no /no'." 

"In your patience, possess ye your souls!" sighed I, 
as I took my pen in hand, again resuming my so often 
interrupted work. Again Judy came in, saying a lady 
had driven by and left a note to be handed to me. Open- 
ing it, I read: 

"My Dear Madame — Having been informed that you 
are representing me, in your forthcoming volume, as the 
Tulip, I request you, please, to change it to a Sunflower. 
I think it suits my styh', as I am considered fine-looking. 
Keep your tulip for the emblem of some less distin- 
guished-looking woman. 



Respectfully 



I began to feel a little angered. A sudden inspiration 
seized me. 

"Judy," said I. "Look in that second drawer, get 
that piece of crape, go and tie it on the front door; close 
these Library shutters; kindle a fire up-stairs, and if any 
more wheelbarrow, 'possum, pen advertisements, Duke 
cigarettes, or notes handed from persons for me, arrive, 
just say to them I am dead." 

"Law, Miss, fur how longV^ with distended eyes and 
accelerat<Hl speech. 

"Until this calamity he overpast: 

"Until I (ell you I've come back to life?" 

"But, Miss, you haint gwine die right now sho nuff. 
What in de gracious is gwine come uv your ole darkey, 
ef you does?" 

"Go, Judy — obey me implicitly." 

I thought of the story of 'Chicken Little," so often 
related to my childish, eager ears, but found no comfort 
there, for it requires but small stretch of imagination to 
mistake a "rose leaf" for a piece of the "sky," in a 
chicken^s brains, I surmi.se. But — I desist, and draw 
the curtaini 

(7f) 



162 

Col. Job, are you convinced? If ever, in your peace- 
ful abode in Arabia, a single thought of having been 
uncharitable in life, when heaping your anathema on 
your enemy's head, remember just a little of my expe- 
rience, herein related, and enjoy the contrast. Youi^'s was 
only a ''trifle light as air," a breath, a sweet bon-bon, a 
caressing phrase of endearment, compared to what you 
might have endured, had you existed now. "Oh! that 
mine enemy might 2:>ropose\o publish a book," and that, 
too, within a given time. If I have any enemies, I could 
never wish them such a punishment, such a penalty. 

"Shade of Arabian Poet ! Once more I salute thee ! 
We may meet again, under happier auspices. Until 
that hopeful time, allow me to say. Colonel, ''Au revoir, 
but not good-bve .'" 



€1! 



-Vl.' 



iircs 



anD,... 



fftocr ©leaitiitaa 



ri'-"si;--:' >-'-'n 



m ^ }» 



Butbor ^ jg£Dinon 



3J 



MAR 7 1698 '1 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap..::.... Copyright No,. 
Shelf. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



-:S 



^ 



^ JDerV 

1903 



